"N> 



THE ROMANCE 



OF 



ROBERT BURNS 



A PASTORAL OF THE PRESENT 

AND 

DRAMA OF DAYS LANG SYNE. 



"^ 



rvt, Y, ^ 



O, Caledonia ! stern and wild. 

Meet muse for a poetic child ; 

Land of brown heath and shag£^ wood 

Land of the Mountain and the flood. 

Land of my Sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ? 

Scott's ''Lay of the Last Minstrel. 



r»EW YORK: 

WRIGHT & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 

L . 



TWO COPIES RECElVci;i: 

Library of Cofigesffiy 
Office of tfeii 

APR 1 4 1900 

S«glttir of Copyrights 



5B672 



Copyright, 1899, 

BT 

JON TEMPLETON. 



Dramatic Bights reserved by the Author. 



Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England; at Ottawa, Canada; Paris, 
France, and International Copyright Countries. 



(Printed in the United States.) 



SECOND COPY, 



TO 

ANDREW CARNEGIE, 

THAT KING OF SCOTS IN THE UNITED STATES. 

whose enterprise and energy have given honorable employment to so many thousands 
of his fellow men ; whose encouragement of Industry has done so much to better the 
condi:ion of the worthy poor; whose libraries and liberal institutions, founded In the 
Cities of Great Britain and America, have so largely aided in the cause of a higher 
and a better education ; whose words, written and spoken, have always been for the 
benefit of mankind ; whose life of usefulness, integrity and generosity has been an 
inspiration and example, 

THIS WORK IS DEDICATED, 
WITH SINCERE RESPECT AND HONEST ADMIRATION. 




AMERICAN ROMANCE. 



A FICTION, fable— call it what you will — herein 
becomes a fact! 

We wise Americans periodically sit down and 
figuratively **bay the moon with howling" for 
An American Romance! This done, we wag our 
heads and wait and watch, and, when the vic- 
tim our lament has lured, comes from his lair, 
we read his tag and note the ear-marks of the 
**Common Cry," andif he's of the mongrel breed 
that feeds on scraps and refuse stuff — the real- 
istic carrion which so many crave whose tastes 
are high — or broods on second-hand and thread- 
bare things, we greet him with a recognizing 
sniff and let him pass — but if he's of the Royal 
Lion's blood and has ideal dreams of something 
lying still beyond our sight, and in temerity at- 
tempts to overleap the barrier by which we 
hedge him in, why then let loose the pack. We 
dog him down and seize and rend and tear until 
there is not left the wherewithal to tell the tale ! 

This, sad to say, is not American romance, 
but simple, sober, solemn fact. 



6 AMERICAN ROMANCE. 

Within a month Great Britain, in acknowl- 
edgment of worth, has knighted ihree illus- 
trious men— a poet, a player and a novelist — and 
France has added one to her ** immortal" list — 
a writer of romance. Germany exalts and 
favors all her men of mark, and Spain, despite 
her poverty, still finds someway to honor those 
whose words have honored her. 

What we have done within a century of years, 
the literary world well knows, and all must 
feel, except the lucky few who live by other 
means or dwell within the narrow circle of 
success. 

Our Muse American is a Commercial Muse! 
Her duty is to count the cash. She opens a full 
'*set of books"— not one. Beneath her rule 
Shelley and Keats had measured tape and Byron 
kept a clothing store. Beyond the realms of 
trade she never strays, and woe to those who do 
not follow in her steps, or, if they needs must 
write, deal only in realities which make the 
commonplace more common still. On those 
who would aspire to higher thought she frowns 
and cries **Forbear!" Doomed is the wretch 
who dares to leave the beaten track, to travel 
on an unknown path, to touch on grounds 
tabooed, or cross the boundary line of the con- 
ventional, or deal in interdicted things, or put a 



AMERICAN ROMANCE. 7 

happy thought into a worker's mind, or cause a 
pleasant dream to ease his troubled sleep, or 
raise another joy within the human heart! 
These are the deadly sins which, in this modern 
world, we lash with ribald jests and scourge 
with whips of scorn. Say not, this is not true; 
it's more — it's verity confirmed. 

Our parks are filled with monuments to foreign 
men — commemorating genius, which, to honor 
here does honor to ourselves! But those whose 
work of hand and brain helped make our coun- 
try great, now, for the most part, sleep in hum- 
ble graves, unmarked, unhonored, or unknown. 

This is more sorry fact and shameful history. 
No wonder we must call in vain for men of pure 
poetic thought, or resurrect the dead to find a 
writer of romance. 

We crush the seed, then ask that it shall 
spring ! 

We kill the spirit, then demand the song! 

In vain. The overbroken horse becomes a 
common hack; and man — his spirit gone — is but 
a soulless slave I 

What then?— why simply this: 

What is encouraged thrives here and else- 
where alike. What man has done in other 
lands, mankind may do in this. If there is only 
one in every million Heaven-born give him a 



8 AMERICAN ROMANCE. 

chance to live. He's but a poor minority — 
what should we fear? By nature self-endowed, 
he asks no school, no bounty of the city or the 
State, no public and no private charity. He 
goes his way and does no man a harm ; his song 
is all of love and hope; his words are all of 
peace; his deeds are always kind; he gives to 
charity when it is his to give; he feeds and 
clothes himself, and what he lacks, the Eavens 
bring him in the dead of night when no man 
sees or knows — and when he dies, be sure some 
loving, gentle hands will bear him to his rest. 

Nation great, be great in this — encourage 
what's your own! An Argosy — if we would 
have, fitted to sail on any sea — loaded with gifts 
divine and bearing wealth from unknown 
shores— trim, then, the sails and bring them up 
from the dead level of the equatorial line, out 
of the doldrums and the trade-winds where 
they float, and steer for higher latitudes in 
fancy's course and broader longitudes of 
thought, and they shall bring us countless treas- 
ures back — rebuilding Borne and Athens in this 
Western World! 



BOOK I 
A Pastoral of Present Days. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS 



BOOK I. 
A Pastoral of Present Days. 



I. 

Looking down from Scotland Hill, over the 
farms of Rockland, across the intervening miles 
of roads and fields, beyond the valley of Mont- 
moor, the eastern view is bounded by a range 
of purple peaks which mark the Hudson's 
course and give the name of Highlands to the 
heights on either side. 

At Haverstraw, against the distant sky, ap- 
pears the towering Torne, and farther south, 
and shading Rockland Lake, a strange forma 
tion shows towards the west—the figure of an 
Indian sleeping on the hills— a mountain and a 
monument reared by the hands of Nature when 
she labored here, and left a silent witness of her 
mighty deeds. 

Over this range of hills, on summer nights, 
the moon appears, lifting her lanthorn slowly 



12 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

as she comes and showing all the splendors of 
the sylvan scenes for fifty miles around. 

On such a night and viewing such a scene an 
old Scotch farmer sat within the shelter of his 
porch, and looked from off the western hill, 
straight towards the east, and saw the slowly 
rising moon, and watched it eagerly until the 
globe of yellow light, pushed up by unseen 
hands, stood out in all its glory, silent and alone. 
It lighted up the old man's face and marked 
the lines of care and age ; the pallor in his faded 
cheek, the silver in his hair; his wasted form; 
his worn-out hands — a being of the past — a light 
about to fade; but in his eyes the living fire— 
the undimmed joy of other days. 

*'0h, wife, gude wife!" he cried. **Themoon! 
The moon!'* 

**Yes, Duncan." The poor old woman an- 
swered him— as if in fear of some fatality— 
-Well— well!" 

**The moon is up, at last, gudewife! The 
moon ! Through long dark nights Fve waited 
till the storm should clear— through fever and 
through cold I've waited till she's come!" 

**Yes— yes— be patient — well!" 

"The moon! the moon! It is the same I've 
looked on near a hundred years— but ne'er will 
look on more," 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 13 

**Duncan!" 

**It is the same we saw in Scotland when we 
two were bairns. Dinna ye mind the happy 
days we wandered by the Doon and she the 
only witness of our love?" 

**I mind it well— oh, Duncan, rest." 

**Aye! I maun be contented now. She 
smiles upon us yet as once she did — she'll smile 
upon our children when we're gone to dust!" 

**Yes, Duncan dear, and now come in." 

**No. Bid the young ones come to mg— here 
in the moonlight — let us part. I'll no die 
happy till they've said good-bye! But hark! 
His step and hers. Are love and death so close 
together?— Donald I" 

**Father!" 

•'Mother!" 

*'Hush! Dear ones— he would speak to you!" 

And now there knelt beside the father's chair 
a sturdy, dark-haired boy, and with him was the 
bright-eyed girl he loved. Behind the three, 
the mother wept. 

"Children"— the old man said — **how sweet 
the time of youth and love. Be ye so loving 
always. Yonder moon is called inconstant, but 
she's not. Shadows may come and shadows go ; 
but still behind them is her blessed smile- 
like my good wife's has always been to me. 



14 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Be patient Id dark hours— the light will 
come " 

"Father!" 

**But I maun leave ye now. My day is done 
and in the evening's light I pass away." 

**Nay, husband dear, don't speak it." 

**Seek not to stay me. 'Twill not be for long. 
Ye'U all come after— only live right here." 

**Father! We will! we will!" 

**Gudewife, bring me the books—the same 
we brought frae Scotland when we came — the 
only ones. Though old and worn, read and re- 
spect them still." 

** We will! we will!" 

**The Bible for the lass— the Burns, my boy, 
for you. Kespect the good in each — the bad let 

go." 

**Father, we promise you." 

**That's well. There's good and bad in every- 
thing — in books and acts, in plants and flowers. 
The rose is lovely, yet it has a thorn; the thistle 
beautiful, but you must never touch. These 
lessons read in memory of me — and dinna all 
forget me when I'm gone!" 

** Oh, father! never! never! Our blessing on 
the hands that worked for us, the head that 
sorrows bowed in our behalf!" 

**Gudewife, draw near— here— hand-in-hand 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 15 

for days lang-syne, and for the days to 



come 



"Yes, father! Hand and heart and soul!" 
"So— good-bye — good-bye — good-bye— to ye 
all! Live here — and keep the old place as it is. 
The woods and trees — the meadows and the 
pastures — and the cattle — and the fowls. Don't 
let them miss me when I'm gone!" 
"We will remember— oh, father!— father!" 
"So, good-bye. The moonlight smiles and 
lights for me the way. I mind the lines I used 
to speak— they're not by Burns, but Lowe — ye 
ken them well. There are some others some- 
thing like in' Kenil worth,' but not by Scott— 
in which the moon is called the 'regent o' th' 
sky'- See! see! she's mounting higher. Now — 
she's looking down on Indian Hill — and now she 
smiles on me, a sad farewell! Yes— yes — I 
mind me well: 



" *The moon had climbed the highest hill 
That rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from its eastern summit shed 
Her silver light on tower and tree. ' * ' 

"Father!" 

"Hush!— there's something more — I can't 
remember it — but so it ends— as— my last — 



16 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

words to you — yes — yes — ^an' then— ye'll — then 

ye'U 

** *Weep no more for me.' " 

And starting up, he fixed his staring eyes full 
on the shining moon and fell back dead within 
his loved ones' arms. 

• ••••••• • 

And now a lapse of many years — some bright 
and quickly passed, and others long, hard 
wrought and sorrowful; but these kind silence 
views in charity and comes on tiptoe, with her 
finger on her lip, and beckons them away, and 
so they go — their griefs untold— all buried there 
in that small space of sacred ground where rest 
the dead beside the village charch. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 17 



II. 

Come now to present days and the same rural 
scene — the landscape brighter than it was be- 
fore; the bushy fields cleared up and sown with 
scented grass and blue-green rye; the pastures 
spotted by the daisy and the buttercup, and 
stone walls green with blossoming grape, wood- 
bine and bitter-sweet; the woods grown taller, 
and the scattered pines with longer branches 
swaying in the wind^ and over all the slopes, 
far as the eye can reach, ten thousand blossom- 
ing trees, scattering their spices on the warm 
May winds, and showering the green mantle 
of the fields with flecks of pink and white 
—a gaudy covering — outrivaling the honey- 
suckle's beauty and the dogwood's whiter 
bloom. 

Within the wood, and up and down the lanes, 
on every fence, just as of old, field-sparrows 
twitter and the bluebird gives his changing 
note ; the quail calls to his mate, the robins sing, 
all things revive and speak of happiness. 
Nature, rejoicing, lingers here and smiles on 



18 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

man, her friend, and daily comes to that same 
little house upon the hill to see the woodbine 
and clematis clinging lovingly about the porch 
where, in the bygone years, the old man sat, 
and where the good wife and the lovers held 
him in their arms that moonlight night on which 
he died. 

And now these living blossoming things in 
Nature seem like the mortals did to him who 
passed away, and twine their arms about the 
ruins of the house, to wrap and fold it in a kind 
embrace, returning thanks for all the shelter 
and protection it has given them. The pansies 
and forget-me-nots look up in gratitude, and all 
the garden flowers nod in the wind and send 
the fragrance of their wasted lives in at the 
open door. The primrose and sweetbrier cling 
to the pillars which uplift the roof, and tall 
half-wild red roses, climbing the lower shutters, 
which they half conceal, reach up their hands 
and spread the crimson blossoms in the open 
windows of the old north room where the young 
couple sleep. In the soft air the branches sway 
and creak till the song-sparrow, nesting be- 
neath their leaves, gets up and sings. The bob- 
white calls aloud, and from the woods which 
border on the newly planted corn, a thousand 
crows cry **caw!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 19 

The sun shows red and gold above the notch on 
Indian Hill— another day has dawned on the 
Elysian fields— as erst it did in Eden— if man- 
kind but knew. 

**Diccon, get up, and to the barn. I'll make 
the tire and 'Dusky Joan shall keel the pot.' " 
So calls the master of the house. "Come, Bar- 
bara! The old clock says it's half -past five, 
and father's watch, says six." 

"Yes, Donald," answered Barbara, speaking 
down the stairs. "Let Joan help Diccon with 
the cows and I'll do all the rest." 

So, aiding one another, they begin the day; 
and so with many days gone by, and which 
have passed in peace — for this new master of 
the little farm, this mistress of his humble house, 
are the same loving ones who, on that moon- 
light night, knelt by the old man's chair and 
promised him to keep the homestead place and 
live respecting what was good in life— rejecting 
what was not. Honored and blessed, so far 
they had lived, doing their duty to the utter- 
most, and helping others while they labored for 
themselves. And middle life was creeping on; 
but still they were content. The wear and tear 
of daily work was in his sun-burned face, and 
in his hardened hands, and in his hair a tinge of 
frost; but in his heart was cheerfulness, and in 



20 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

his eye intelligence and kindness, courage for 
any fate, all clear as day. 

And Barbara was everything that could be 
asked of woman — industrious, thoughtful, gen- 
tle, good, loving and faithful where she'd set 
her heart, and womanly in all that makes a 
woman loved. 

The good wife— nearly ninety now, but still 
as cheerful as in younger days — ^was with them 
yet. To sit and knit and read and talk of all 
the follies of the present days and tell some tale 
old as herself, or to repeat some schoolgirl 
speech, or try with her cracked voice to turn a 
wornout tune, was her employment or expres- 
sion of content, and well she carried it ; for spite 
of an impatient bigotry and pride, she had 
those sterling qualities of mind and heart which 
never can grow old. 

So master and mistress, mother, man and 
girl made up this simple home— save when a 
traveler benighted lost his way — or when some 
friendly visitor came from a distant place, or 
some acquaintance from the city called, or lin- 
gered over Sunday at the house. And to all 
others — idlers, tramps or lazy boys, and so- 
called huntsmen who tore down rods of wall to 
seize a rabbit which was miles away; or dug 
the meadows full of holes to catch a chipmunk 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 21 

which sat chuckling on a limb above their heads 
—the good dog, with more intelligence than 
theirs, gave warning with a bark and said 
**move on." 

But now the spare-room held a visitor— a 
mighty man and one, in brief, who knew all 
things — except himself. A man who feasted on 
the day's events, as detailed in the daily press, 
until, in fancy, he was something more than 
mortal *'I" and used the plural **we" to awe 
the millions of his fellowmen — a crank and a 
reformer of the latest date, and with the neces- 
sary forwardness to make his mission thrive. 

For reasons only known to Providence, Fate 
set this subject down on Scotland Hill. He 
knew the country always proved a fertile field 
in which the inspired fool could plant his crop 
of isms, leaving to time and better men the 
task of tending them until the harvest came and 
yielded his reward. 

First he essayed the village school, and gave 
a long harangue — telling his gaping listeners 
when and what and how to teach and who 
should teach it when 'twas taught. And then 
he boldly entered the Seceder's Church and^told 
them all the newer kinds of sins — sins that 
these innocent people never dreamed of — never 
knew before — how, like the dock, the daisy and 



2'2 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

wild-carrot in the meadows, and thistle seeds 
and scallions of the pasture lands, these things 
were spreading far and wide, and every family 
—like the farmsteads they possessed — was in a 
daily danger of these pestilential blights on 
their prosperity and peace. 

He did not know what other men might do, 
but *'for ourselves," he said,** we should proceed 
at once to seize these monsters by the throat 
and dash them down and trample them beneath 
our feet!" 

As he spoke this he acted it, and grasped a 
section of the invisible air, and choking out 
what little life it had, he threw it to the floor 
and sprang upon it with his feet, and with a 
smile of triumph held it down. This perform- 
ance — more than was promised, by the way, 
roused up his one confederate to say **Amen!" 
This was enough. Before the sound of this sole 
exclamation had died out the easy convert found 
himself on a committee, self-appointed by the 
Columbus who discovered all this sin, to visit, 
with him, every house and introduce reform. 

Hence the spare-room at our friend's place 
was occupied—for courtesy and hospitality, 
never lacking in that little home, had made 
him welcome there, and Donald Stuart, knock- 
ing on the door, said in his kindliest manner: 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 23 

'^Breakfast is ready, friend." 

And good Colurabus Cant was nothing loath, 
but prompt on call, and answered the usual 
morning question with the usual reply: 

"Yes, yes, we've slept well — and sleeping 
well has given us an appetite. In fact the work 
we have in hand has given us both appetite and 
inspiration." 

He rolled his eyes a little as he spoke, which 
gave his long and churn -like face a curiously 
unsteady look; but this was counterbalanced 
by a broad and beaming smile as he accepted 
all the good things passed his way. To do him 
justice there was something satisfying in his 
look; besides, his manner was magnetic and his 
words could charm. 

*'There— there," he said. "Now, good 
friends, don't mind us; and brother Stuart, you 
go to your work, for you cannot neglect your 
fields, nor can we ours — so go. We'll stay and 
talk to the good lady of the house; *for man 
and wife are one,' you know — eh? Yes. Ha! 
ha!" 

"But you will stay to dinner with us, will you 
not?" 

*'We-e-l— let me see — we-el — yes; 'always 
room for one more,' you know — eh? Yes. Ha ! 
ha!" 



^4 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

The novelty and unique wit of these remarks 
made Donald loath to part with so original a 
mind — however, with a promise of another 
double-feast at dinner time, he went ; but what 
he thought, was hidden by good manners in his 
breast. 

That the Pretender's visit was prolonged from 
dinner until supper time, and then another 
night, and then another day, and then a week, 
might be a matter of surprise to those who do 
not know how really good a man can be who 
gives his soul to a good cause, and, knowing his 
own value, takes his pay as he performs. 

Donald said nothing, but thought much, and 
more than usual when, on coming home at night, 
weary and worn from labor in the tields, 
covered with dirt and dust, sunburned and 
overwrought, he had to listen to a homily from 
one who had passed the heated day in quiet and 
in shade, or swung himself to sleep in the broad 
hammock underneath the trees. 

*'You farmers don't know how to work," the 
visitor exclaimed. "You lack intelligence. 
Before we go — if we lind time — we'll show you 
certain papers and the books you ought to read. 
You don't plow deep enough — nor fertilize 
enough, nor use good seed. Kemember the 
parable of the sower, he— — " 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 25 

**Yes— yes/' broke in Donald, impatiently, 
forgetting his restraint. *'He sowed! And, 
though he wasted seed on stony ground, and 
though the thorns choked some — yet some 
sprang up and yielded fifty and one hundred 
fold! God bless the man who plows! The man 
who sows! The man who works! As well as 
men who talk!" 

*'Donald! — why, what do you mean?" ques- 
tioned his mother and his wife. 

**0h, nothing! nothing!" said the visitor, to 
whom the sharp retort was merely pleasantry. 
*'He doesn't understand; but after supper he 
can read our books. Awakening is what he 
needs. His methods and his logic are all wrong." 

**Say that my manners are at fault, and Til 
agree," said Donald, rising as he spoke. *' Wel- 
come or not, you are our guest, and never un- 
derneath this roof has a stranger been treated 
otherwise than with kindness and civility." 
Saying this, he started in, and as he did so, his 
dog came up, and standing at his side, looked 
back towards his visitor and growled. 



26 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



III. 

That night the troubled Donald had resolved 
to talk with Barbara. Often, of late, he had 
wished to speak about this stranger whom they 
sheltered ; but just as often he had paused, fear- 
ing he might let fall some hasty word, or in 
some way imply a doubt of her, or her good 
taste at least, in seeming to encourage one who 
but a fortnight back was quite unknown to all, 
and who was half a stranger still. 

And often since this strange man came, a 
guest unbidden, by him at least unwelcomed — 
whose presence was protested even by the dog 
— he had wondered why it was that he remained. 
Was it his mother's liking for the man who 
could talk Bible with her by the hour, while 
neither seemed to tire? Or was it Barbara's 
overhospitable way that made the stranger 
think he should remain, and caused him to as- 
sume so confident a tone? What could it be? 
Surely no man, unless encouraged in some 
point, unusual, unknown, would so prolong his 
stay. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 27 

The more he thought of this the more it 
puzzled him; and now, at any cost, he'd speak 
to Barbara. She never had withheld her con- 
fidence — he knew she never would, and he must 
speak or doubt would grow to a suspicion that 
Barbara, whom he had always loved, had found 
another's talk more pleasant to her ear, if not 
another face more favored than his own. 

Then too, he missed their happy nights, when 
sitting by the kitchen fire, after the old mother 
had gone off to bed, and when no others save 
themselves were up — when the good dog kept 
watch outside, and puss and kittens played upon 
the floor — and when the wind went moaning 
round the house, and cricket chirped beside the 
ruddy hearth — when by the lamp-light Barbara 
read the best books that their scanty means 
could buy — and when on Saturday nights, the 
labors of the week all done and all was housed 
and put away — the horses in their beds of 
straw, the cattle underneath the warm dry shed, 
and Luath in his cozy kennel by the door; when 
he had read from Barbara's book and she from 
his, and the old father's gifts were priceless 
still and loved and honored for the good they 
had done and for his sake who made their 
memory dear. 

How many nights like these had passed — how 



28 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

many ended with a kind **good-night" to 
father's picture on the wall. How many a time 
within the shaded light, these two had knelt 
and asked a blessing on the dear old house that 
sheltered all from ill. And now — with these 
recurring thoughts — he sat and mused, and then 
at last he spoke. 

** Barbara, if I may trespass on your time 
which now I know is taken up with hospitality, 
pray tell me, if you will, what books are these?" 

''Those, Donald dear, the ones our guest has 
sent you — why?" 

*'0h, nothing. They're appropriate. I lack 
intelligence and stand in need of reformation. 
But, Barbara, the first I seek from you — the last 
I'll ask from him." 

**Donald ! What do you mean?" 

''Barbara, you know me well — and till these 
two weeks gone I've thought that I knew you. 
Tell me if I have been mistaken?" 

"Donald!" 

"Forgive me, but I think I have, or something 
strange of late has come between us!" 

"What do you mean?" 

"This— your confidence is turned away, and 
when I come home nights from labor in the 
fields, I find no welcome as I used. You look 
at me, not kindly, but reproachfully, as if 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 29 

ashamed to see the honest sweat upon my sun- 
burned face, the homely patches on my work- 
ing clothes, the marks of honest labor on my 
hands. Is not this so?" 

**It is, but not for reasons that you givj. It 
is because I love you, Donald!'* 

** Barbara!" 

**It is because I see you here, who might be 
honored among men, wearing your life away 
without a single gain and with a future showing 
no relief and offering no reward." 

*'Beware, dear Barbara ! The poisonous weed 
of discontent — if once we taste it — grows in 
time to be necessity, and kills at last! This 
stranger's talk has led to this." 

**It has revived what I myself have often 
thought, but never dared to tell you." 

•*And that ?" 

**That in the city yonder we could find 
some useful occupation which would build 
us up — not keep us down forever with the 
slaves!" 

"Hush, Barbara. Imagination all. Have 
you forgot my father's dying wish? The les- 
sons in the books he gave us? Dear wife, go 
bring them now, and doubt not we shall find, in 
one or both, some story of content." 

**Yes, Donald dear; but I forget. Your 



30 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

mother took the Bible with her when she went 
upstairs, and Burns I cannot find." 

**It's in the stranger's room." 

**It was; but now it's gone. Joan told me of 
it first, and we both looked three days ago. It 
doesn't matter though. He says it's very com- 
mon, out of date, and low and vulgar as the 
writer was — that poetry is dead, that only facts 
and news are useful now ; that there's a war on 
fiction and on verse; that Shakespeare, Scott, 
Byron and Burns, Longfellow, Irving, Poe and 
such like men must go — and modern moralists 
will rise and take their place!" 

**Kise! Eise!" cried Donald, who had lis- 
tened in amazement to this revelation of sus- 
pected things. *'Kise! They have need to 
rise! A resurrection would not raise them high 
enough to take the place of any one you've 
named!" 

"Donald! ' 

**Don't mind me, lass," said Donald kindly, 
as he walked about the room. *'It's not your 
fault; but now I see — the cry is up! the war is 
on! No wonder my poor book is gone — no 
wonder!" 

**rm sorry that I told you now," said Bar- 
bara in distress. 

**Vm glad you did. You should have done so 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 31 

sooner. I should have known what animal we 
lodged within the house, whose place was in 
the barn. The dog knew at the start we should 
have set him on." 

**But, Donald— patience. Is there not some 
truth in what he says? Some wrong— some 
error — and some evil in these things?" 

*' There is. There's right and wrong in all 
this world and everything which it contains. 
Gardens have weeds; the purest diamond has a 
flaw; there's not a field I till but labor must 
subdue. The best of books has in ii errors 
scattered far and wide, but its sublimities are 
there, like mountains capped with snow above 
the level wastes. The surface of the earth is 
hardly habitable, save where mankind has 
wrought and toiled for years and years, and I 
believe man's mission here is but to make it 
some day worthy of a God-like race!" 

**Donald!" 

**That's my belief. And every century's im- 
provement shows it's true. For that I daily do 
my part — knowing it is a duty which should be 
performed for Him who placed me here!" 

**Dear Donald — will you listen? " 

**Not to such arguments as his. They are as 
much too plausible as he's too good. What 
does he here? We were content and happy till 



32 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

he came, and now all's wrong — and even she 
I've always loved sees faults in everything I 
do, and wrong in everything I prize!" 

**No, Donald. Do not turn away. See here, 
I put my arms about your neck, and looJs into 
your honest face, and say I love you more than 
all the world; and only because it is so, do I 
wish to see you have a higher place in life and 
higher thoughts, if any such there be." 

*'God bless you, Barbara, but let us not be 
self-deceived nor take a stranger's word before 
the best of books, for these are best of words 
by best of men, and no mere would-be wise man 
has a right to cry them down." 

**But, Donald, this man says it is the world 
in arms against the erring few. A crusade for 
the right, no matter who may fall." 

**Then let those fail and fall who most de- 
serve to do so, Barbara. Right will survive 
when all crusades and those who lead them on 
are low in dust! As for this canting stranger, 
let him go his way. Our house was blessed be- 
fore he came. I do not want an evil spell to 
settle on it now." 

**Nor I, dear Donald, only I had thought — as 
we lived here alone — away from all the greater 
world — there might be something we had missed 
— something we had not learned— something to 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 33 

better both our lives, and other lives as well, 
which, may be, we had left undone!" 

'*Nay, Barbara, it was a loving, kindly 
thought, and I'll not chide you for it. I've 
often noticed how good women try to help the 
world— as angels fallen— knowing what we've 
lost — would lead us back to Heaven!" 

**If I deserved that thought I'd cherish it. 
But, Donald, dear, ours is a very lowly, earthly 
lot, and, save our books and all the fancies in 
your fertile brain, it sometimes seems discour- 
aging." 

"Barbara, unwittingly, you have confessed; 
our books, my fancies have made light to you 
— as God in mercy knows they have to me — the 
burthens and the troubles of this world ! Then 
let the bigot say whate'er he will; let strangers 
come and strangers go; let canting hj^pocrites 
or true crusaders fight these follias down— we'll 
not desert them any more than we'd desert a 
friend who stood unshaken in our hour of need." 

*'I cannot argue with you, Donald dear; nor 
shall I longer try to do so. What you say 
always seems the best that can be said, and may 
be you are right, for you have read and studied 
much, and thought and talked on subjects only 
dear to honest-hearted men who understand. 
But grant me one request." 



34 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Name— and I grant it, Barbara." 
**It's only this: To-morrow night this man 
makes his report. The meeting's at the yellow 
schoolhouse, as you know, and all the neighbor- 
hood is asked to come — ourselves among the 
rest. Forget all prejudice and let us go — hear 
what is said, and then decide— you to conclude 
with me there may be higher, better things in 
life— or I, with you, believe as Shakspeare 
says: 

** *Poor and content is rich and rich enough; 
But riches endless are as poor as winter 

To him who ever fears he shall be poor!* " 

^'Barbara, come here, and let me kiss the 
honest lips that spoke those honest words ! — 
And he's to be replaced! What incandescent 
light, shining from out a vacuum, shall shame 
great Shakspeare's sun? What puerile popin- 
jay, with senseless twaddle of the times, shall 
step into Longfellow's shoes? What moralist, 
with an affected modesty, shall in the foulest 
terms urge on the rest? But, Barbara, as you 
have said, we'll wait until to-morrow night. 
Meantime, no more. God bless you! Go to 
bed. I want to sit and think awhile, alone." 

**Bless you, Donald. So, good-night! Don't 
let what I have said make you unhappy. My 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 35 

thought was but to lighten care, and not in- 
crease it for you, dear." 

**I know— I know— don't say another word. 
Burns says it all in the old book: 

*' 'It's iio' in titles nor in rank — 

It's no' in wealth like Lunnon bank 
To purchase peace and rest, 

If happiness have not her seat 
And centre in the breast T 

Good-night!" 
*'Good-night!" 



36 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



IV. 

The schoolhouse waited for Columbus Cant, 
as evidently it had waited for him when he was 
a boy. The night had come. His auditors ex- 
pectantly listened for his bold "Ahem!" and 
watched for his approach. The final day of 
grace had passed. The sinners shivered in their 
seats. The hour of judgment was at hand. 

Strange as it may seem, the coming of this 
solitary warrior on the field had captured all 
the camp. Audacity had conquered, and by 
its very boldness won respect. The call to meet 
the conqueror was as imperious as Caesar might 
have issued to a race of slaves, commanding 
them to pay their homage and their tribute at a 
certain hour. Further than this, these simple 
people— overawed by what appeared the great- 
ness and the goodness of their judge — were 
ready to confess to sins which he suggested, but 
which they, in worthy ignorance, had never 
seen or known. 

The day so big with fate was one to be re- 
membered. **To-morrow," he had said, **we'll 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 37 

hear what you've to say," and children on this 
day had waked before the sun and asked their 
mothers: "Is it to-morrow now?" and had 
been answered: **Yes — to-day's to-morrow— 
now keep still." And well they might. 
Mothers cried "Fie!" to every little fault, and 
said "I'll tell the man !" Old women whispered 
and gave knowing nods in lieu of silly speech. 
Old men looked puzzled, but forbore to smile, 
and others laughed the matter off— while some, 
appropriately shocked at such unseemly levity, 
held up their hands. The village humorist was 
even sadder than his wont. The cogitating dog 
wandered about and hung his head with a dis- 
gusted and a guilty look, and many times sat 
down and closed his eyes, as if to shut out some 
unpleasant sight. Nature seemed hushed. A 
Sodom and Gomorrah haze hung o'er the land- 
scape like a cloud. The strain on all the day 
was great. Night only brought relief. The 
guiltless penitents, with mea culpa on their 
lips, were ready to confess to every crime in 
all the calendars of past and present time. 

But, hark! His voice! Committee of him- 
self and one walked down the aisle and mount- 
ing to the teacher's place, turned on his smile 
as he'd turn up a lamp, and so surveyed the 
subiects of his will. The smile died out. He 



38 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

donned his frown, that all might see he set his 
gentleness aside, and stood for duty which he 
must perform. 

This understood, Jove-like he launched his 
thunderbolt and smote in the good cause. 

"Beware the lightning stroke!" he cried so 
suddenly, that many dodged, and following his 
swift gesture, as he pointed to the roof, ex- 
pected the impending crash! **Not now!" he 
said, **not yet; but it will come to drive you 
forth and cast you down! 0, race of vipers! 
Henceforth you shall crawl and hide you in the 
dust. For doom is yours. Your sins have 
found you out, and your iniquities cry even 
unto Heaven! — Your lands shall pass away, and 
your inheritance be set at naught! And igno- 
rance shall still be yours— and poverty shall 
curse you all your days! Behold in us the spies 
sent out by Israel to tell your downfall to a 
coming race! Lo! hear the list of your enor- 
mities!" 

Then followed in detail the unknown crimes, 
which took a good half-hour to tell, and which 
had such high sounding and imposing names 
that some felt glad that they were guilty of 
them. *'The money changers in the Temple," 
were especially elate, and chuckled in their 
usual country style. And ''women who 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 39 

thought more of home and husbands than in 
'tending meetings for reform," seemed rather 
proud to own it. But there was one offence too 
great for words to counteract. * ' On that, ' ' cried 
Cant, **we march with weapons in our hands. 
An army of Davids, we charge upon Uriah ! 1 
mean— Goliath! Goliath — yes — ha! ha! Though 
he walk forth a giant in his strength as well as 
in his sin, a single stone shall bring him down 
— and then — ha! ha! we'll seize him by the 
throat and tread him underneath our heel!" 
And here again, the seizing and the stamping 
process was renewed — this time with variations 
— for he grasped an unoffending book and tore it 
into fragments which he scattered on the floor. 
"So perish all our enemies !" he cried — ** All fan- 
cies and all fictions of the brain! All poetry — 
frivolities and all romance. Yea, everything, in 
fact, but fact itself. Let those who would be 
happy read the Pentateuch !— or Saints of latter 
days— or save your worthless souls by this my 
Sermon upon Sin — protect yourselves at once ! 
Procure it while you still have time. Let our 
committee rise and pass about and bid the err- 
ing and repentant buy !" (The committee rose 
and did as was decreed.) '*Now, money 
changers, ply your trade in a good cause, if you 
would be forgiven ; for, look you— all your idols 



40 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

are cast down — our Juggernaut annihilates and 
none was spared ! From simple Shakspeare 
down to driveling Irving all are gone ! Why even 
in the house where I have made my short so- 
journ, I was insulted by the soulless Burns! 
But I destroyed the book, as he who wrote it 
was destroyed, and now both burn in everlasting 
fire! In flames unquenchable! In " 

In what he did not say— he got no further. 
No peroration— no doxology closed this too clear 
a scheme. A. man sprang from a seat beside the 
door— the money changers gave him room, but 
the committeeman was overturned, buried be- 
neath his books — women who honored homes 
and husbands all stood up! A single man re- 
treated — and that so-called soul — too small to 
be perceptible— was sheltered in the carcass of 
Columbus Cant! 

Before the eye of Donald Stuart he shrank 
back amazed and trembling in the farthest cor- 
ner he could find; but Donald never paused nor 
looked toward his foe, nor said a word — he 
merely raised the centre window and he dropped 
his dear guest out— an unexpected exodus — no 
more — and then he shut the window down so 
softly, easily, that the slight jar it made was as 
a pin fall or a breath— and then he turned and 
faced his friends! 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 41 

Shouts had been heard on Scotland Hill; but 
never such as rose in wild approval of the 
scene. It w^as a blending of the best that blood 
of Scotsmen and Americans could do — with 
women's voices like the shrill scream of the 
pipes, swelling and rising with a higher note 
than all the rest, and falling back to rise and 
rise again ! 

It was the war cry heard at Bannockburn, re- 
peated in our later days and for a love as loyal 
and a cause as true! 



42 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



In the far distance, faintly heard at intervals^ 
— the booming of the British guns ^announced re- 
lief to Lucknow. Here it was the steady roar. 

The silence of the last two weeks had found 
a voice and now resolved to try it to its last re- 
source. Kestraint was at an end. The exit of 
the enemy in such a sudden, unexpected way 
was magical. The disappearance of the one and 
bringing forth another in his place was some- 
thing more— so startling the effect. Add to 
this a double joy— relief that one who held them 
bound was gone — delight that one who set them 
free had come— and then a joy supreme at sight 
of Donald Stuart's honest face. 

Say no more there is no love and sympathy 
in man — that all is coldly selfish in this world — 
and every one is for himself alone. 

** Speech! speech!" they cried; but many 
minutes passed before he could be heard, and 
when he was, the frenzied crowd gave him his 
texts and furnished inspiration for his theme. 

**The man! the man!" **The book— the 
book!" **Our friends— our only friends!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 43 

'*Burns!— Robert Burns!" *'Our ignorance and 
poverty!" Old men — their voices gone— used 
only gestures now, and women pressed towards 
the front and smiled through tears of joy. 
Donald alone was calm. In his familiar, friend- 
ly style he talked to them as he had often 
done; but those who knew him best saw some- 
thing was suppressed — asperities rang in his 
voice — and smouldering passion showed itself 
at times— 'for words came from his lips as 
touched by flame, straight from a heart on fire. 

**I should not say a word at such an hour," 
he said, **for what is personal to me may well 
be answered in a better way and at a fitter time; 
but we are friends upon these hills — the living 
and the dead the same — and while there's man- 
hood left we'll stand by one another." 

**Aye! aye! We will — we will!" they cried. 

**And suffer our inflictions as they come, this 
last among the rest." 

**No, never! no!" 

*'Yes. Some say our punishments are meas- 
ured by our sins, and now you all may judge 
how grievous our offence." 

" We do— ha ! ha ! We do ! But tell us, Don, 
what sin have we committed that we should 
suffer this?" 

**That book you were compelled to buy? 



44 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Why, none. It's one of those intended to re- 
place the trifling works of all our poets and 
philosophers by teaching us instead the newest 
kinds of sins. Your pardon that on this I speak 
my mind, but words will out when men must 
use them in a just defence, and here we stand 
between an open insult and our homes!" 

•'Hear! Hear!" 

*'The war is on. The Shakspeare-Bacon con- 
troversy proved how bold is the design. Begun 
in secret, it has grown an open foe. Its forces 
are sent out to *skirr the country round' until 
our firesides are no longer safe. The invader's 
hand has seized our household gods and set a 
brazen idol in their place. The stroke of the 
iconoclast has shattered all it touched and now 
would break the very images of thought itself. 
Fictions and fancies— poems and philosophies 
must perish all. The honored dead are tram- 
pled on— the living laughed to scorn. The 
monuments which love has reared above de- 
parted greatness have been undermined and 
totter to their fall. 

•'For, sooth to say, this is an age of plain uiili- 
ties in which the vulgar rules and shallow things 
hold sway. Nothing is sacred now. Sin is a 
jest, and wornout sayings masquerade as wit. 
The coarse, the common and the homely are in 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 45 

vogue. Nothing has worth beyond its vital use. 
Polish is vulgar save upon a shoe; and even 
facts, to be believed, must be distinctly plain. 

*' Daily we hear the worldly homilies. Dis- 
card all fancies. Only read the news. The 
beautiful don't pay. All art is dead and inspi- 
ration is a dream ! The world, just as it is, is 
what we want, and what it might or may be is 
a theme which common sense cares nothing to 
discuss! Ah, well a day! Then to that realm 
called commonplace let those depart who will, 
and take along their everyday realities. Leave 
me in all my poverty, I pray, with only thoughts 
of things which make a brighter world ! The 
beautiful in every thing— the inspiration and the 
dream— a sound of music and a sight of art — a 
word of love— the last faint echo of a poet's 
voice, sounding from out the past! These 
seeming useless things, which never pay, but 
which are riches greater than a Plutus boasts to 
him who knows their value to the world. 

**Look you, my friends, our homes are 
founded on a favored spot. From yonder High- 
lands down the long Blue Ridge, along the Hud- 
son and the Delaware, throughout the Empire 
city and the Empire State we wander over fa- 
mous scenes which Cooper, Irving, Bryant, 
Drake and Edgar Foe, and later giants like to 



46 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

these, have made a classic ground. Across the 
river yonder, on the western slope which ends 
in Sleepy Hollow, and within a stone's throw of 
the ancient church, is a neglected grave. About 
it and above it and on every hand are monu- 
ments to millionaires and those who fought for 
wealth and lived their little lives of selfishness 
and commonplace. But no one stops to ask 
their names or read their epitaphs— while at 
the grave of Irving men take off their hats and 
women kneel in homage and respect. 

'*What shall prevail against a tribute like to 
this?" 

** Nothing! Never! never!" 

''Nothing shall — ^for look ye, friends, a man's 
work is the man himself— nay more— his better 
self, his worth, his intellect, his heart, his soul! 
I take a book, as I would take a stranger in my 
house, and prove it by its worth. Is it un- 
worthy—then it goes; but once a friend, 
it is a friend forever! Such was Kobert 
Burns!" 

These four words, coming from a heart o'er- 
charged, and uttered with an emphasis of rev- 
erence and love, renewed the wildness of the 
scene just passed. The fire relighted shone in 
every eye. Shouts came anew from every 
friendly voice. Women and men arose and 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 47 

waved their hands, and well it was no foe was 
in their reach, or those Scotch Grays of Water- 
loo had given their inspiring cry and trampled 
them to dust! 



48 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



VI. 

When silence was restored, urged on by all, 
Donald resumed. 

'*My friends, we're simply country folks and 
ignorant and poor, therefore the little that we 
prize possesses double value. 

'*To me my father's gift was more than what 
it seemed. It was a souvenir as honored as 
himself, and one of the few things he brought 
from his old home. Upon its leaves his name 
was marked, with comments and erasures in 
his hand, till not an unclean word or thought- 
less line was left to mar its worth. 

**You knew my father well, and know it was 
his custom, as old age unfitted him for any 
work, to go about the lanes and fields and pull 
up every weed and useless plant that scattered 
its foul seeds about the farm. So had he done 
with this, for every one to read; for, as he said: 
'Faults should be remedied, no matter where 
they're found. Nothing is sacred that is wrong. 
No error ever was inspired or ever will be — nor 
can we teach pure thoughts with impure words. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 49 

No matter what the ground, the seed you sow 
will bring you harvest of its kind. Then wel- 
come good, wherever it is found, and let the evil 

go.' 

**I mention this, not to bemoan my loss, but 
that you all may know how honest was my 
father's way compared to this crusade. Father ! 
your gift is in my heart and only He who gave 
me life can take it from me. As for the other, 
let it go, an offering and a sacrifice for good, in 
memory of you. 

*'One hundred years ago, in Dumfries, Scot- 
land, died the poet Burns — his last days, 
passed in dire distress and hopeless poverty, 
were sorrowing penitential days for all the 
errors of his early life. 

** Within his grave was buried all reproach for 
the light lapses he had made. The gentle, lov- 
ing, feeling heart was laid at rest. The grass 
that covered him was wet with sympathetic 
tears, and over him was reared a glorious mon- 
ument in memory of the loved and lost. From 
Aberdeen to Ayr — aye, and in many a distant 
land these sad memorials stand as witnesses 
and record still the greatness of the inspired 
bard — but all in vain ! For in these late degen- 
erate days come the self-righteous tribes— the 
rigid, scant religious ones denounced by Burns 



50 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

—the offspring of the Holy Willies of the past, 
with curse on lip and stone in hand to war upon 
the helpless dead. Envy, jealousy and hate 
are theirs — and for encouragement the bigots 
and the pharisees plead and uphold their cause. 

**But let them come — the 'common cry of 
curs,' an unknown clan of little souls who 
shame their own obscurity. 

**In this defence let those assist who will. 
Let lukewarm friends stand neutral or retire; 
cowards retreat, or cravens hide. My answer 
is no plea for mercy or restraint ; nor protest, nor 
a favor asked; but my defiance uttered here — 
my gauntlet at the foeman's foot, my weapons 
in my hand ! 

And be this labor an expression of my love, 
This service give I here with all my heart, 
This stand I take for auld lang syne! 

Scotia, dear land of romance and of song, I owe 
thee much. From thy wild scenes my good 
forefathers came, bequeathing me the iron will 
of every clan that scouts the sun and storm on 
Caledonian hills, and with it the true love of 
country which all Scotsmen own; but to the 
poor man's bard I owe far more, and if the day 
could ever come when bigotry could banish 
Scott or Burns, and leave but cant and realism 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 51 

in their stead, I never more should care to visit 
thee — to tread thy shores or see the glory and 
the glamour in thy name ! 

'*Ask not, my friends, why I am with the 
weak against the strong; the wrong against 
the right; the one against the many — I am not. 
That which seems strong and right and hedged 
by many friends, is only fraud in thin disguise. 
Hypocrisy in the good churchman's borrowed 
clothes, and all the might they boast is but the 
coward host whose cause unstable, shifts and 
vanishes, or changes with the fashion of the 
hour. Against all these one honest man's a 
giant, and inborn nobleness of thought is better 
than a world of their miscalled morality. Join 
then with me for what we honor and for those 
we love." 

*'Aye! aye! through life — through life!" 

*' Your hands — that's well — who will not stand 
for right must ever suffer wrong. Who will not 
fight for honor is a coward slave." 

''Eight! right! But then our ignorance and 
poverty." 

''Wonder no more, since you have heard me 
speak, that ignorance should dare to lift its 
voice. God bless the little schoolhouse where 
we stand and yonder convent with its cross and 
bell. With these to aid, let's make life better 



52 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

as the days go by and teach our boys and girls, 
as best we can afford, to make them good and 
useful in the world; and, whatsoever else they 
lack, let them but learn the lessons taught by 
honor and by love and they will never more be 
ignorant or poor. 

**0, charity and kindness, gentleness and 
truth, thou modest teachers in the school of 
life, let thy sweet virtues but adorn their minds 
and none will see the sunburn on the honest 
face or heed the homespun of their poor attire. 

"And poverty— well, what of that? I hail it 
as an old-time friend. I've walked with it, and 
talked with it, and asked it to forbear me many 
a time ; but still it clings and lodges in the attic 
of my house, and many times comes down like 
famine to the board and shares our scanty meal. 
It steps into my leaky shoes and wears them 
out in cold and sleet, and wraps its shivering 
form in my greatcoat until the elbows gape and 
shine. It sits on watch while I am working in 
the fields, but never raises hand to help. It 
takes my only coin with a remorseless smile — 
but suffer as I must, and turn the matter as I 
may, I still believe that poverty's my friend. 
This much I know : the world owes more to 
want than wealth. All progess comes from our 
necessities. Nature has said to man: *This 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 63 

world s yours; but there are certain things you 
need. Go, work, and you'll receive them.' 
Poverty produces— wealth consumes. Poverty 
is strength — wealth is weakness. Poverty is a 
giant — wealth a sickly slave. The hardened 
hands of toil upraised the Pyramids and builded 
Babylon and Nineveh. Poverty created the 
seven wonders of the world. Poverty of re- 
source made necessary all the great inventions 
of the age. The poverty of thought — our in- 
ability to know what lies beyond— has kept us 
cheerful here. Poverty — the non-possession of 
the things for which we yearn — has given us 
the poets and philosophers. Poverty gave us 
Ferguson, who, lying on his shepherd's plaid at 
night, with strings and beads mapped out the 
constellations in the heavens. The engine and 
the telescope — the needle pointing out the path- 
ways of the seas — the loom and printing press 
and all that makes the comfort and the glory of 
the world sprang from necessity alone. 'Tis 
poverty that digs the diamond from the deepest 
mine and makes it shine in crowns of queens 
and emperors. The silks and velvets in the robes 
of royalty are woven by the hands of poverty, 
and sorrow sews the ermine as she sits and 
weeps. Poverty builds palaces, and wretched- 
ness uplifts the monoliths to fallen kings. 



54 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

*'In poverty and tears have been wrought out 
the noblest thoughts that animate the hearts of 
men. The sweetest melodies have sprung from 
discords in the human breast. 

*' *Sweet are the uses of adversity,' Shaks- 
peare says, and so say all who know and feel 
— yet poverty — poor poverty ! outcast, despised , 
how many do thee wrong! Thy friends are fev/ 
— thy votaries none. All shun thee, all despise 
thee; and thy first offspring— wealth, well 
dressed and proud — knows not his parent, but 
denies thee as he passes by. Thy home, alas! 
is in the open street, thy covering charity ; and 
so you sit and ask for alms, this label on your 
breast: 'That man alone is rich, ivho uses wealth 
which Heaven has given him, to aid hisfelloiv man; 
but he toho grasps his millions tvith a greedy hand, 
and hoards ivealth only for himself, that mari alone 
is poor.' 

**And now don't ask that I shall say another 
word, or my disjointed speech will be as poor 
as poverty itself. Take much for granted 
which I need not tell, and this believe that while 
I live, in all that's right I'm with you heart and 
hand— and when I'm dead I hope I still may 
come, and like *the spirit of the Gregarach 
walk' with those I love 'mid these familiar 
scenes!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 55 

Bowing, he stepped upon the floor to meet a 
welcome shout and grasp an hundred out- 
stretched hands. 

Like some great knight— whose quarrel just 
had won the day might stand — so now stood he. 
Men welcomed him with loud acclaim and wo- 
men offered him their thanks. A crowd of girls 
encircled him ; but b(mnie Barbara put them all 
aside and placed her loving arms about his 
neck, and looking up into his smiling face, she 
kissed him then and there. 



56 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



VII. 

Congratulations at an end, a little old bald- 
headed man, mounted upon a chair, stood in a 
corner of the room and vainly tried to speak. 
His voice, or what was left of it, came forth at 
intervals in feeble pipes like those which beg- 
gar-women constantly turn out, in grunts and 
squeaks, from imitation organs on the street; 
and still he made the motions as a windmill 
might, and swung his arms, and stamped his 
foot, and turned red in the face, and struck an 
attitude, till presently all eyes were on him. 

"Father Lindsay! Father Lindsay!" they 
all cried; *'a speech! a speech!" And Father 
Lindsay, like the great chief Tamanend, was 
borne along by all the warriors of the tribe, and 
fairly lifted over seats and ladies' heads, and 
spite of his gesticulating kicks, was placed upon 
the platform, where he stood, the council's hope 
and pride. 

''Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" Father Lind- 
say bowed return, and then a matchless piece 
of oratory swayed the helpless crowd. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 57 

Sign language did it all. He never spoke a 
word. A lot of motions, postures, stamps and 
nods made up his whole discourse. Yet he was 
earnestess itself, and emphasized each whispered 
point in such a way that laughter, shouts and 
bravos sounded on all sides. At every pause 
came cries of *'Good! Good!" "Bravo! 
Bravo !" **Hear !'' Then, after a long meter of 
gesticulated words, some one would cry: 
**Second the motion!" Then, as he struck the 
desk, they'd all cry '^Carried!" and repeat the 
whack until it rang again. 

** Hurrah for Father Lindsay !" Father Lind- 
say rose to the occasion now. He stood up on 
the teacher's desk and made his points in such 
a way that every resolution ended with a bang; 
and not until the desk gave way was Father 
Lindsay carried off. 

'*Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" 

Sandy Ramsey took his place. He was a tall 
and raw-boned Scot, with leery eye, which 
twinkled with delight and looked as full of mis- 
chief as a wildcat's on a summer night. 

'*An' now!" he said, '*we've carried every- 
thing, includin' the last speaker to his seat, I'll 
just make bold to move that all the resolutions 
we've just heard be sent-— exactly as gude 
Father Lindsay spoke — to that same saintly 



58 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

spy o' Eesrael that our gude frien' Don dropped 
out o' yonder windy there." 

*'No — no," exclaimed the crowd. 

**Yes! yes! It's our appreeceation — a sort o' 
blonk endorsement, don't ye ken? Here, Handy- 
Capper — you committeeman!" he called to that 
unfortunate — who during all this time had been 
preparing for departure, gathering up his traps 
and searching for his sacred books. 

**Here, you ! spy No. 2. Tak a' yer bukes an' 
keep the siller ye ha' got— an' here's a dollar 
more if ye'll no show yer long sour face in this 
veeceenity again. There, this blank paper just 
taps off yer load — now go — and stay. Hand on ! 
I'd help to carry that; but ye'll soon find the 
other spy awaitin' ye ootside. Ye should be 
goin' wi' a pole upon the shoulders of ye two, 
and, hangin' down between, a bunch o' grapes — 
that's the old Bible pecter — but ye're too airly 
in the season here. Our grapes are green— an' 
J yer two faces would turn milk and honey sour 
upon the way— and onyway we don't believe 
the gude Creator ever made one lot o' children 
to be blessed and ithers to be dommed, because 
auld Eesreal was sa' unco gude— and thenk ye 
were too long a-comin' anyway, and wasted 
time for forty years a-playin' in the Welderness 
—and makin' golden serpents an' the like — 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 59 

till we ha' got a little Canaan here, an' now ye 
want us folks to gie it up; but you two manna- 
eatin', sarpent-makin' tramps, gae back an' 
tell the rest that we don't budge a fute except 
to kick ye oot— now go." 

Upon such gentle invitation the silent and the 
saintly stranger went, a goodly servant in a 
worthless cause. 

The eyes which followed him now turned to 
meet a more familiar face. The schoolmaster 
was in his place and patching up his desk. 

''I wish," he said, *'the men who came to 
mend our morals would stop their tmkering at 
unknown trades and take to mending desks; 
bat. Father Lindsay, it is all your fault. You'll 
stay in after school for this, and I will give you 
something to take home and think of over night. 
Here, order now! We've had ^hurrahs' enough 
to last a month. Boys, get on your own side. 
Girls to your place. I've got a lesson that I 
want to put before you all, for I confess I've 
learned one here to-night myself. We all know 
now what friendship is, and what forbearance 
means, and if our better natures speak, we'd 
add, forgiveness too." 

**Right! Right! Hear! Hear!" 

**I move, then, that before we go we thank 
good Master Stuart for his manly words, and 



60 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

SaDdy for his Sunday-school discourse, and 
Father Lindsay, too, for all he said— and more 
he didn't say." 

'•Carried." **Good!" **Hurrah for Father 
Lindsay!" 

'* Furthermore, I think, if we consider the re- 
sult, we can afford to offer thanks to him who 
has abused our hospitality and laid his impious 
hands upon the things we loved and prized." 

** No— never—no!" 

**Yes! For his act has made us one; has 
taught us self-respect, and roused us up and 
jomed our hands in honor of our homes." 

**Good! Good!" 

"What say ye then if Saturday night we all 
meet here and plan to turn this evil into good, 
and welcome every honest friend they've tried 
to take away?" 

**Good! Good!" ** We'll all be here!" 

"Then school is out to-night. Let us go 
home, and keep our lessons in our minds ; and in 
our hearts a fixed resolve that right shall ever 
rule our humble homes and every fireside while 
it's free, shall claim the world's respect!" 

At this even Father Lindsay found a little 
voice to aid the final and approving shout. 

The shock was over— Scotland Hill stood firm. 

Like children going home from school these 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 61 

honest people talked and lingered on the way ; 
and where they parted at some lane or path, or 
at the corners where departing roads led off into 
the darkness, there *'good-night!" in differing 
voice was heard — and calling back and shaking 
hands again, with promises to **come over to 
our house and spend the day" — and then a dis- 
tant call or merry laugh — and, finally, the 
voices dying out, and in the distance, barking 
dogs, and one by one the sudden lights— like 
will-o'wisps — as windows were lit up; and then 
the darkening as they passed, and then at last 
each party in the stillness of their lonely house, 
then silence over all. 

peaceful country scenes — what can com- 
pare, in all the glare and glory of the world 
with these sweet times of rest? What can re- 
place the stilly nights, the slowly waking morn, 
the short siesta, or the dolce far niente of a lazy 
afternoon when summer holds her sway. 



62 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



VIII. 

Donald and Barbara, on arriving home, went 
up the path and opened the back gate. Luath 
had followed them so quietly they did not even 
know he'd been away from home; but now they 
called him in and patted him upon his shaggy 
head and asked him what the matter was — for 
strange to say he sniffed the air and whined and 
then ran to the road and back again, his nose 
upon the ground. Meantime a light shone from 
the window of the summer kitchen, causing 
Barbara to start. 

'*Donald," she asked, **what light is that? 
We left the house quite dark and closed the 
doors." 

'*0h, nothing," Donald answered. **Mother 
must be up. Go in this way. I'll go and see." 

And, as he spoke, he entered the back door 
and went into the room to find the light turned 
up— but no one there. Only a letter left for 
him beneath the lamp. He sank into a chair 
and opened it and read. 

Barbara, meanwhile, had passed into the 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 63 

front room by the porch, to find the door wide 
open and the night wind blowing in. She 
lighted a small taper match and held it up — no- 
body there — but as she turned to close the 
door, a hand grasped hers — the light went out— 
and her sharp cry was answered by a caution- 
ing 

**Hush!" and then a hurried speech which 
told her everything. **No noise. I come to 
say good-bye, and tell you all. I love you. 
Loved you from the first. For that I lingered 
here. For that I brave all now. You know 
that this is true. I have no time to tell you 
more. Say only you believe — that you some 
day will leave this cur and come to me. Here is 
my card and my address. Keep it and write. 
One kiss, and now good-bye.'* 

Her answer was one word — her husband's 
name— as she rushed out upon the open porch 
and struggled to be free. But Donald heard no 
cry. He only saw the letters dance before his 
eyes, and read these words: 

** A curse upon you! You have spoiled my 
scheme. But my revenge shall strike where 
most you love ! This is the wound I leave with- 
in your heart— and so good-bye!" 

Two strokes upon the window which he 



64 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

faced, and he looked out to see the paws of 
Luath on the pane, and his great anxious eyes 
look in. Then the dog barked and ran away 
a moment and returned, repeating the same 
action as before, and Donald bounded to the 
door. Luath had said as loud as canine words 
could speak: **My mistress — come with me!" 
and one loud cry of Barbara answered him! 
"The Jibbonainosay was up" in Donald Stuart's 
heart. An instant and he faced the foe — to him 
in this dark hour, Wenonga Cant! He used no 
words — he drew no weapon — left no mark or 
cross upon his victim's breast, but in his hands 
of iron he grasped him by the throat, and cast 
him to the earth, and trampled him beneath his 
feet — the dread Lex talionis which he had been 
taught, with all forbearance and forgivenness 
cast aside. 

He dragged him to the fence — he raised him 
up and threw him over in the road — while 
Barbara looked on and Luath fairly cried for 
joy. 

Curses and groans, and noise of fast departing 
feet — kept up till they were lost beyond the 
hill, where Luath, following, sat and barked — 
ended the schedule of Columbus Cant. 

Barbara came out where Donald stood and 
held him in her arms, and leaned her head upon 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 65 

his breast; but neither said a word, and pres- 
ently the dog came back — turning, and barking 
at each turn- and then at last he came inside, and 
following his master and his mistress to the 
porch he lay down quietly and placed his head 
upon his paws before their feet. 

** Good Heavens! What's the matter here?" 
asked the old mother,in a half crying voice, as 
she came down the stairs, wrapped in a shawl, 
and peeped out of the door. 

**0h, nothing — mother — nothing!" 

''Nothing? Why I thought the house was 
falling down. I never heard such noise in all 
my life. What was the dog barking at?" 

**He barked at nothing, too." 

**Huh! Just like that dog. He'll bark at 
nothing all night long; but if a robber comes to 
rob the house, I'll warrant you he will be 
sound asleep." 

**Yes, mother, yes. There, go to sleep your- 
self. It's getting late." 

**Well, ril go back. I do hope there won't 
be any more ado for nothing, anyway. You'll 
wake our guest." 

**No, mother, he has gone." 

•*Well, well, he's gone. That's good! Well, 
thank Heaven, he didn't hear the noise. Did he 
leave any word? What did he say?" 



66 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Damnation!" 



'•What?" 



•'Damnation!" 

**0h, and all for nothing. Well, maybe you 
two know everything, and all that Fm to know 
is — nothing! Well, good-night. Go to bed. 
Nothing — eh? Well, I never saw such times — I 
never — "and so she talked till she was back 
again upstairs. 

Now in the silence of the night, with no one 
near, and only faithful Luath lying at their feet, 
Donald and Barbara sat alone. 

So strong the bond 'twixt man and wife that, 
where they love, they can divine each other's 
thoughts— can almost see the mysteries of the 
mind, and read each other's faces in the dark. 
So Barbara, as she leaned on Donald's breast, 
knew all his troubled thought. Its silence 
told her more than words and forced her lips to 
frame an answer which should break the spell. 

"Donald," she said, **you are silent— yet I 
know a thousand words are working some dis- 
trust within your generous mind. Oh, Donald, 
speak to me." 

"Well, Barbara." 

"Only my name — and coupled with a sigh. 
What is the matter, Donald?" 

"Nothing, Barbara." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 67 

**Yes, but there is. You cannot put me off 
with such a word. There is some worry in 
your heart; and now, when I've to bless you 
most for your protecting arm, it only clasps 
me with a cold embrace and shows your confi- 
dence and love are gone." 

** Forgive me, Barbara; but I cannot help but 
feel — and he said right — a sting is in my heart." 

*'Not a distrust of me?" 

**No, Barbara, no — and yet why is it that I 
feel it here? Tell me if you have ever led that 
man to think he could address you with dis- 
honest words. You, my dear wife, of all the 
world the one most trusted and beloved?" 

**Donald, I need not answer no. When you 
are calm enough to think, your trusting heart 
will answer fully in my stead and tell you all 
your confidence and love have never been mis- 
placed." 

"Barbara." 

**0h, husband, if I've had a thought it was to 
do you good, and in some way repay you for 
the honest love you've ever shown to me. I 
told you this last night, and I repeat it now— 
despite of all that's chanced since then — despite 
of what you think or all the world may say — 
my heart is yours alone." 

**No more, dear Barbara, no more. I take 



68 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

you at your word as I have done these long 
years past. No witness shall be called 'twixt 
you and me, for when I can no longer trust I 
shall no longer love or longer wish to live." 

^'Donald!" 

*'Kemeniber long ago— the night we both 
knelt here beside my dying father's chair — the 
moon came up and looked upon the scene, con- 
firming father's loving words: *Be faithful in 
dark hours. The light will come.' And see, 
she's rising over Indian Hill as bright and con- 
stant as in vanished days, and chaste and beau- 
tiful withal; but not more lovely, loving, faith- 
ful than my Barbara is whose home is in my 
heart." 

Clasped in each other's arms they seemed 
again the youthful pair of other years. Their 
hearts were just the same and all about them 
took the color of the past and led them back 
through the long lane of yesterdays to that 
sweet halcyon time of love no mortal e'er for- 
gets. 

Oh, happy is that man whose honest faithful 
wife can with him so retrace the journey of 
eventful years and find no shadows on the road 
they are ashamed to pass, or haunted houses 
at the end they dare not enter in ! And blessed 
the wife who, for the love and trust she gave. 



ROMANCE OF ROBEl^T BURNS. 60 

has found a guide who leads her fearlesc 
through the world — whoso word is honored in 
the haunts of men — whose name with women is 
a title of respect — who wears no weapon, bears 
no shield; but who — no matter what his pov- 
erty or state — stands a true gentleman in every 
place — sans peur et sans reproche. 



CO ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



IX. 

When Donald closed the house that night he 
said *'good-night" to Luath at the door and 
called him his "good friend." The dog re- 
sponded with a whine in which affection was as 
clear as such sounds could convey. Then he 
put out his paw and wagged his tail and licked 
his master's hand. 

**My good old dog," said Donald, patting him 
upon the head, *'go to your kennel now. No 
one will bother us again. And see — the wind 
is shifting to the east and clouds are gathering 
around the moon. To-morrow it will rain. 
Well, as I can't work in the fields, I'll make 
you a new house. Good-night, my faith- 
ful fellow. You're better than the man 
you followed down the road. He plundered 
my poor home by day — you guard it in the 
night. While he deceived, he seemed a friend 
and looked me in the face and smiled 
— a thing no decent dog was ever known to 
do; but, Luath, justice recognizes right and 
always spurns the wrong. The man is in the 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 71 

street — you in your house. He has the 
world's contempt — you its respect. Good- 
night." 

As Donald had foreseen, the morning opened 
cold and brought a northeast storm ; but bright 
fires made it cheery in the house, and the re- 
straint was gone which, for a fortnight back, 
had weighed upon it worse than gloom. Diccon 
and Joan went singing to their work and Bar- 
bara was like a girl released from school, en- 
joying the first holiday; and good old mother 
Stuart sang a dozen tunes, each one beginning 
on a wornout note and ending in a droning 
sound in concert with the kettle on the fire. 
At length the call of breakfast shut her off; 
but finding Donald did not hurry from the barn, 
she went to the back door and let her voice out 
in a prolonged yell — a **B-r-e-a-k-f-a-a-a-a-st!" 
in a quavering cadenza, good and strong, which 
brought an answering *'whoop," then she was 
happy and came in again and sung her little 
ditty by the fire. 

^'Barbara," she said, while she was waiting 
for another tune, **did I get up last night and 
come downstairs?" 

"Why, yes, of course. Don't you remember 
how you talked to us?" 

**Yes, I remember that. I asked you some- 



72 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

thing, but I couldn't understand what it was 
yon said. Who was it fell downstairs?" 
**Why, nobody, of course." 
'*Well, then, who was it made that noise?" 
"Nobody — yes— that is — nobody, too." 
**0h, I didn't know. Maybe I'd better sing: 

'* *From Greenland's icy mountains 
To India's coral sands ' " 

^'That's beautiful, mother," cried Donald, 
coming in. *' What song is that?" 

**0h, nothing." 

'*I mean who wrote it, mother?" 

**Nobody. You see I make up my songs, just 
as you do your stories, as I go along. 

" *The wicked flee when none pnrsue — 
I am bound for the land of Canaan! 

If you get there before I do 

Just tell them I am coming too, 

For I'm bound for the land of Canaan !' *' 

As she finished this the knowing look she 
gave set Barbara and Donald in a roar; but the 
old lady never cracked a smile. 

**rd be ashamed if I were you," she said, 
•'disturbing people in the night by throwing 
visitors over the outside fence into the road. 
I hope you didn't break the palings off." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 73 

**Who told you that?" 

**0h, nobody, of course. I saw that in my 
dreams." 

** What else, mother?" 

** Nothing. Only this I say— the money I 
gave that fellow for the heathen reached the 
right hands for the first time. 

*' 'The heathen in his blindness 

Bows down to stocks and stone!* 

Well, well — no wonder he knew everything 
from Genesis to Malachi. Why, he knew 
nothing else. Well — show me a thief and I'll 
show you a liar — that is true if he was not. 
Don Stuart, you ought to be ashamed to touch 
that little six-foot man. Why didn't you call 
me? Give him some coflFee, Barbara — hot. He 
don't deserve to have a single thing — except 
the best the house affords. Oh, laugh! I'd 
laugh myself; bat there's a certain kind of 
humor that's so bad we can't tell which is best, 
to laugh or cry." 

**Laugh, mother, laugh," said Donald, with 
delight. ** When women smile within the house 
men never heed the stormy world without. 
This is our happy day." 

And so their merry talk beguiled the time till, 
breakfast over, Luath had a feast. Then Donald 



74 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

took him to the shop and made a kennel for 
him with a gothic roof, a sliding door, and at 
the back, a window ; this, not only for the light, 
and sun and air, but that— as Donald said — 
*'some time a friendly face may look in there 
and warn you of mischance, as last night you 
warned me." 

It was the middle of the afternoon before the 
task was done; then Donald and the dog went 
out, despite the rain and dripping grass, to 
make their usual survey of the farm. 

**The night will be quite cold," said Donald, 
as he took his coat. ''Vm glad the storm con- 
tinues and the wind still holds and makes the 
wet trees shiver in the blast, for should it clear 
to-night the frost would come, and do more 
mischief in an hour than all a summer's work 
could mend. Come, Luath, come. First up in 
the back fields, then down the woods and then 
below the road, and when we come back home 
we'll bring the cows along. Diccon, put dry 
straw underneath the shed, and some in this 
new kennel for the dog, and take it when you 
go down to the house. We'll bring the cattle 
up. Come, Luath, come." 

And so the friends went out together in the 
rain, across the open fields. The man with 
merry calls j^nd bits of song—the dog, with 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 76 

such poor voice as nature gave, responding from 
the gladness of his heart. 

Within the house both Barbara and Mother 
Stuart found enough to do — and as for questions 
— the old lady, who had learned the art, now 
found her opportunity and plied her trade. 
Suffice to say the little that she didn't know 
about the troubles of the night before, was like 
a dictionary to her now, with every word pro- 
nounced and properly explained. 

When satisfied that she had got it all, she 
said no more, but took her knitting and sat 
down and carolled some more songs: 

"*Arise! Arise! my soul, arise! 
Sha-ake off your guilty fears I' " 

And then these scraps she'd interline with a 
soliloquy. 

**Wonder they didn't break the fence," and 
then repeat, in song, the few last words: 

" *Sh-a-a-keoff your guilty fears!' 

"I'll thank that dog, when he comes home, 
if it's the last thing I ever do in my life." 

" *A-rise — arise — my soul, arise!* 

** Wanted to kiss her — huh! — no wonder he 
went over the fence quick — 



76 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

** *And like a coward fell.' '* 

She always went to bed at dusk ; but days in 
May are long and she had time before the cow- 
bells and the barking dog broke off her song to 
run down, like the clock upon the mantelpiece, 
and then wind up again. 

**Come, now," said Barbara. **Donald has re- 
turned. Let's have our supper before dark to- 
night. What do you say?" 

** Well— just a cup of tea for me; but give 
that dog a rouser. Luath! Here!" she called, 
opening the back door. "Here, good old dog. 
I treated you just like a cur last night; but now 
I take it back. I meant the other man." 

**No matter, mother," Barbara said. **We 
know now who to trust. Here's his new kennel 
Donald made, and here is Don himself. Come 
in, you good old darling, you— and take off your 
wet coat. I'll hang your hat up. There's the 
rain water in that pail. There's castile soap, 
and a dry towel's on the rack — and the best 
supper that we ever had is waiting on the fire." 

**Thanks, Barbara, for thought of me. I'm 
glad that every thing is housed; for as the 
Macbeth murderer says: *It will be rain to- 
night.' " 

** Words full of meaning and appropriate," 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 77 

said Barbara. **But I have four more apt and 
eloquent.*' 

"And they?" 

**Come in to supper, sir." 

Never is day too dark for cheerful hearts, or 
those who make best use of present joys. And 
never, never is our fate so hard but pleasant 
words can make all bright again. 

That night brought back the good old time. 
The peaceful house— the mother gone to bed; 
Joan's chattering talk, and Diccon's hesitating 
telling of his love, as he sat in the corner by 
the kitchen stove, and watched his rustic 
sweetheart do her work; the pattering rain ; the 
noise of waterspouts, and dripping eaves; the 
distant murmurs of the brook beneath the 
bridge; the fitful gusts of soughing winds, and 
moaning of the bending pines; the chippering 
swallow in the chimney top, and the faint cry 
of mice inside the wall; the purring of the doz- 
ing cat; the cricket's feeble *'ait"; the ticking 
clock; the murmuring of the fire and — as the 
night advanced — the crowing cock, and then the 
hush that followed it till answer came far down 
the road— and then the barking of a distant dog; 
but Luath's quiet said to all within: *Teace is 
upon this house. Go on and whisper all your 
tales of love— and good friends sitting by the 



78 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

open fire, pull down the curtain that no eye in- 
trudes, or passers in the night behold you happy 
in each other's arms; or nature in her strife 
come to disturb your dreams." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 70 



X. 

The call to meet on the appointed night was 
not forgotten. The cause which made it was 
alive and every day intensified. A clarion note 
was sounding in the air. A simple lantern 
borne along the road by some belated messen- 
ger, who had gone out to talk the matter over 
with a friend, was portent of the coming storm. 
It was the "emblem of sepulchral yew" — the 
blazing cross and signal Malise bore across the 
Scottish hills. It called him coward and it 
'**doomed him woe," who failed to join the strife! 

Time, never halting, never slow, soon went 
the round till Saturday was reached. This hur- 
ried by. The noon-mark scarcely showed ere it 
was gone. A few hours and it seemed the sun 
went down. Already afternoon had closed the 
windows of departing day. The shadows 
lengthened as they crept along. Dusk came, 
close followed by the deeper gloom — then Night 
— dark empress over half the world — stalked 
forth and sat down quietly upon her ebon 
throne. Her robe was velvet of the raven's hue, 



80 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

and the embroidery was jet. Her cestus and 
her girdle gleamed like eyes of fire. A starry 
diamond shone upon her breast, as Venus shines 
through rifts of cloud. Her black veil, spread 
across the heavens, was spangled with unnum- 
bered stars, and the great Moonstone centered 
in her diadem, with countless brilliants circling 
it about. 

Such was the radiant beauty of the queenly 
night. 

How great the business of this little world — 
how all engrossing are the passions of mankind 
or else how insignificant, alas! great Nature's 
works must be that man so seldom turns his 
eyes upon the glories of such scenes as these. 

But in the schoolhouse now, the men and 
women of the hamlet met, that which might 
change some portion of the world, or work out 
happiness and good for one or many of the hu- 
man race, was in the passing hour, to be dis- 
cussed. So simple are the ways, so seeming 
poor the instruments which, in the hands of 
Providence, are made to shape the fortunes of 
mankind. 

Lo, the reviled, but patient Nazarene — 
An outcast and a wanderer in Palestine ! 
To-day the master of the world's morality! 
Whose words sublime have swayed the sons of men — 
Whose deeds and death proclaimed a living God ! 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 81 

The goodly company was early on the scene, 
and there was no delay. The master who dis- 
missed the meeting of the former night was in 
his place and opened the proceedings now. He 
rose and spoke: 

*'This meeting, called at my suggestion, Tues- 
day last, I call to order at this time. You 
know its object and will name the one who 
will preside; but first a word — let us begin 
where we left off and finish what we left un- 
done." 

"I'm thenkin' ye're jest right," said Sandy 
Ramsey, striding out upon the floor; **when 
workin' in the fields, we cut the swath where 
we have left the scythe — and take the corn row 
where we dropped the hoe, an' so there's 
n'aethin' skepped." 

**Right — Sandy's right!" said several who sat 
gaping in his face, and Sandy smiled and raised 
his voice : 

**Now, Mr. Overseer, or whatsoe'er ye are — 
the unfeeneshed beesnessof the ither night was 
Father Lindsay's speech, and I've been lyin' 
wake o' nights a-thenkin' what it was — and 
maybe if we put him on the table there he'll be 
a human phonegraph — and if we oil his gud- 
geons an' adjoost his crank his ceelender will 
turn, an' out of every little groove he'll grind 



8^ ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

the words o' that same speech that's stored 
inside." 

There was a roar at this and everybody cried 
out: 

''Father Lindsay! Father Lindsay!" and 
carried him triumphantly to the stand — and 
there he stood without a smile— and presently 
began to imitate the turning of a crank, and 
moved his lips, as everybody bent their ears to 
listen — and sure enough — a splur — and — blur^ — 
and blup and blang — and then the following in 
a phoney screech, which made the listeners 
almost drown the piping voice by laughing out 
of place. This was one speech not '*cut and 
dried" ; but rather one preserved: 

*'Hu-hu-hu-rah! Hu-hu-rah! for the man — 
who — threw the other man out of the window ! 
Good!" 

And here a flourish and the gesture No. 1, 
and all cried **Good it is!" **Second the 
motion!" ''Good!" 

*'And hu-hu-rah! 'Rah! for the man — who — 
made the window where one man threw the 
other out ! Hurrah !" 

And here a wave of arms— and short ** Hip! 
Hip!" and then all shouted with a will: 

''Hurrah! Hurrah! for Father Lindsay!" 

"And hu-hu-rah! rah! for the schoolhouse 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 83 

which had such a man — and such a window in 
it — hip — hurrah !" 

Then the shouts and flourishes renewed: 

'*Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" 

*'And hu-rah! rah! rah! for every man — who 
stands by every other man — who — in the school- 
house — throws a man or any other man — out of 
that window — or any other window — so he 
throws him out!" 

At this he brought his right fist down and 
whacked his left, and gave the desk a kick 
which made it shake again. The crowd all 
laughed and yelled : 

*'Hurrah for Father Lindsay !" 

"And in conclusion, this is what I say — if 
there is any man, who is a man, and doesn't 
throw a man who's not a man, out of all the 
windows in this old schoolhouse I'll throw him 
out myself!" 

This time, his final kick had broken desk and 
platform too, but that his laughing friends bore 
him away in triumph to his seat. 

**Hurrah for Father Lindsay!" 

No sooner was this orator in his place than 
Sandy Eamsey rose again and took the floor. 
To say the truth, he was a little jealous now be- 
cause the human phonograph had outdone its 
inventor, and he resolved to talk it down. 



84 ROMANCE OF RORERT BURNS. 

**I'm thenkin'," said he, with a caustic grin, 
**the Lord is vara kind to let such humble een- 
struraents be heard at sic a time—and it was 
mercy to withhold the same the other night; 
but when ye want yer talkin' done ye'll call on 
me. I've had the etch for that these mony 
years. 1 learned the treck o' it when I was i 
travelin' in the West. I'll tell ye how it was — 
ye see— once on a time ^" m 

*'Order! Order!" cried the crowd, wh6) 
knew the genial Saady's *'etch" was cacoethes 
loquendi of the chroniG type; but Sandy neverr 
took a hint. 

''Of course," he said, "if ye go makin' noise I 
can't talk half so fast or long. Once on 
time " 

''Order! Order!" 

"Ye mind the time McShaw and I ran off from 
tjQnie__well— then— once on a time " « 

"Order! Order!" "The gentleman will take 

his seat." \ 

"Of course— I didn't thenk o' that. When ] 
am sittin' down I'll talk just twice as fast 
altho', in either way, I'm just a pump, an 
when ye work me up an' down, the suctioi 
brings the words, just like the water flowin' ii 
a stream ! But that's no matter now. When 
was travelin' in the West " 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 85 

**Order! The meeting must proceed." 

**Well, open up!" said Sandy; *'ye won't 
bother me. Weel, travelin' takes siller all the 
time and so McShaw an' I got poor, and pov- 
erty sticks like a woodtick in the Eendean 
terreetory. Have ony of ye ever been oot 
there? Weel, one day when we were roound in 
that veeceenity^ " 

A low groan issuing from a corner of the room 
brought Sandy to a halt. He glared around, 
his swiveled eye on fire. 

*'Look here," he said; ''ifye'reso near the 
dyin' as a' that, I'll just wait till ye'regone an' 
then I'll come an' murn for ye." 

He paused and then somebody prayed before 
he could resume and asked, with other favors, 
that if the life of Sandy Ramsey was to be pro- 
ilonged his speech at least might be cut short. 
A general "Amen!" resounded through the 
room and Sandy sat down in disgust. 
**0f course," he said to those around him, 
if I'd a' known this was to be a funeral or a 
tellin' o' expeereance I would a' started on that 
tack mysel'," and here he rose again and re- 
pommenced on a religious key. 

**Brethern!" he shouted in a nasal twano-, 
"I'll gie ye my expeereance wi' a pair o' mules. 
[ bought 'em frae a deacon in the church just 



86 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

after I had joined an' when I couldn't swear. 
Well, then, he guaranteed they'd pull a two 
horse load thro' ony mudhole that I ever 
saw. Weel — one day, down by Drinker's mill, 
they both stuck fast an' wouldn't pull a pound. 
I argued an' I coaxed an' used the whip, an' 
tied the halter strap to their forelegs, an' tried 
to pull 'em forward, but the place suited 'em 
too weel, an' so they settled down to stay. 
Then Drinker's boy kem out an' says he, 
*Sandy, them is Deacon Drawback's mules an' 
ye must give 'em jest the kind o' exhortin' that 
he used to gie — I'll show ye how.' An' then 
he straddled the nigh mule, an' kicked his 
heels, an' cracked the whip, and yelled out 
forty rods of D's— with *gee — ejo— long, therr— 
you infernal double d — d fools'— an' such a 
scatterin' ye never saw. The boy an' load were 
drapped off as they went. I couldn't see 'em 
for the dust, and never cotched 'em till they 
whizzed around the corner to the barn, just five 
miles from the start! Say — if there's to be 
more prayin' here to-night — jest eenterject a 
few spare words for me an' ask forgiveness for 
the way I swore." 

**Amen!" and laughter followed this— and 
then a silence as the master rose and greeted 
an old man who came in quietly and stood un- 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 87 

covered near the door. His hair, snow white, 
set off a face of marked intelligence in which 
was mingled kindness and command. His man- 
ner spoke of gentleness and dignity, and as his 
kindly eye surveyed the room, he smiled and 
started down the aisle. 

At sight of him a reverential hush fell on the 
throng. The men stood up, the women offered 
him a seat; Sandy stared as if he saw a ghost, 
and hoped he didn't hear; the master grasped 
his hand and spoke: 

'^Welcome," he said. **This is an honor we 
did not expect. My friends, our worthy minis- 
ter." 

These words were useless and were scarcely 
heard. The sight of this good man they loved 
was like an inspiration. Involuntary shouts 
burst forth. Men cheered. This was a wel- 
come from the very heart— affecting all alike— 
the ones who gave it and the one who heard. 

There was a moment's pause. The pastor's 
face turned pale, and then, without a word of 
thanks or sentence of reply, he raised his hands 
to Heaven ! 

**0, God, in mercy bless thy people here, and 
guide them in the right. And this thy servant, 
standing in their midst, in sight of Thee, give 
him grace and strength and love, forgiveness, 



88 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

kindness, charity, and let his feeble hands and 
voice aid them in every trial of their lives — in 
fortunes good or bad— sickness or health— or 
danger— or that dread hour when death shall 
come and end all brotherhood and friendship in 
this world. Amen." 

A silence followed this appeal. So solemn 
and so feeling its effect, no human voice essayed 
to break the spell. It would have seemed irrev- 
erent. Here were no ordinary, worn out forms. 
No cold words uttered in constraint of sin. No 
virtuous eyes to look the world to scorn. Here 
was a man with heart and soul of man — meet- 
ing the sinner upon equal ground, with love 
his only weapon, and with God his only 
guide. 

*'Let me preside," he said, '*if you will kindly 
give mo leave. I know your purpose and re- 
spect your cause — and such poor help as may 
be mine to give, I'll freely render you." 

^'Thanks! Thanks!" all cried. *'Speak! 
Speak!" 

For now they longed to see his face and hear 
his voice who came to them a friend ; besides 
the kindness touched them home, and no one 
cared to interrupt it by a word — not even Sandy 
Ramsey with his tireless tongue. 

The minister was master now, and standing 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 89 

in his place he spoke as calmly and as kindly 
as a father might to those he dearly loved. 

**My friends, the indignities which you have 
borne have not been yours alone. The church 
has suffered more from men who misrepresent 
her cause than from the greatest sinners in the 
world. In your case, you can turn the evil into 
good; but where we toil the laborers are few, 
and one unworthy worker brings contempt on 
all the rest. Against such men, with you, I 
have a common cause, and for the right against 
them I will stand your friend. 

**But first a word. Our hospitality must not 
be set aside because some stranger has abused 
it. Kindness is duty, as our labor is. As 
Nature blesses us, so must we others bless! 

**Keep then the fire upon a friendly hearth ; 
the loosened latch upon the outer door. Some 
day an angel may come in and say : 

*' *God bless this house, for it hath sheltered 
those in need and brought them peace and 
rest.' " 



90 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



XL 

Continuing, the pastor said : 

**Now, good people, no formalities. I call 
upon the worthy master here and my friend, 
Donald Stuart, to come and sit with me a little 
while that we may formulate a plan to turn 
mischance into the common good." 

Donald's name— at all times dear — now 
uttered in respect by such a man, roused all the 
slumbering feeling of his friends and seemed a 
battle cry to conjure up the spirit of the hour. 

His lightest word at such a time was as a 
trumpet tone. His touch a talisman. His 
honest face — the magnetism of the man— drew 
every heart and raised emotions strong and deep 
in every breast. 

As the three friends clasped hands — school- 
master, minister, and tiller of the fields — the 
people greeted them with heartfelt cheers and 
felt in them an untold pride; for here were met 
the virtues and intelligence and strength which 
make a people great. 

Donald bowed till they permitted him to 
speak. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 91 

**My friends," he said, **since last we met 
something most strange has chanced to turn 
the very current of my life. Two days ago a 
package reached me from an unknown source. 
In it a book — the counterpart of that same Burns 
I lost and prized — theEdinboro and Kilmarnock 
bound in one. The same marks and erasures; 
the same eliminations, and in every way — ex- 
cepting that it lacked my father's notes and 
name — the same familiar friend. In it a letter 
with no signature, and in a hand I never saw 
before, with this request : That I would take this 
book in place of that I lost, and keep it for my 
father's sake and for my father's friend, and 
in return the donoi asked but this — that I 
would seize the inspiration of the hour, and in 
some way would use the talents I possessed, 
and turn the whole to good. Do this, the letter 
said, and be assured that God will bless your 
work. My friends, what shall I say? This is 
the book" — he held it up — and as the people 
gazed, he turned towards the good old minister 
and cried: "And here the giver, if my heart 
does not deceive, and my dear father's friend. 
Generous sir! write here your name and make 
this gift forever priceless in my sight, and then 
command me as you will." 

So sudden this transition that its effect was 



92 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

startling to all. Each eye was turned upon the 
minister, who for a moment bowed his head; 
but as he looked up, and took the pen and 
signed his name upon the fly-leaf of the book, 
he wrote a history of love and kindness every 
eye could read, though filled with joyful tears. 
Having signed, he rose and took the book and 
gave it back as Donald seized his outstretched 
hand. So they stood— but neither spoke. 
Words are but feeble, useless things when heart 
replies to heart. 

Used to all scenes of joy or grief, the minis- 
ter found his composure first, and— spite of the 
emotion evident in all — he spoke. 

'*My friends," he said, '*this incident and 
every step that has led up to it reveals the 
working of that unknown power which governs 
all our lives. There's something supernatural 
in all that we call fate. What was— what is— 
and what is still to be— let man decipher as he 
^in__-^ise Providence keeps still its way, mys- 
terious and unchanging, often seeming wrong, 
but in the end, another step in progress and the 
right. 

**How slight a cause has made this an 
event, and yet how far in undiscovered time, re- 
curring, interchanging causes and efi'ects can 
reach. Life acts on life— intelligence breeds 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 93 

higher thought— until they stretch beyond the 
present world and reach to God." 

**Let him who now complains of this be sure 
— that, certain as he lives, the time will come 
when he'll look back and bless this hour— and 
for myself, I thank my God for that which 
made this bond of brotherhood and joined our 
hearts in confidence and love. 

** Already we're ten thousand times repaid for 
everything we've lost. You, in the knowledge 
of your better selves— I, in the grand discovery 
I've made, that he whose hands are worn by 
toil, whose face is furrowed by the trace of care, 
whose outward garb is but the honest homespun 
suit, bears in his breast a heart as open as a 
sunny day, in which the sweetest virtues lodge, 
and where,through sun and storm, love, peace, 
and honor all abide! 

*'Friend Donald, keep my gift, and read it 
with the greater one your dying father gave to 
you and Barbara, your honest wife. For her 
sake and for yours and all the world I would 
the blemishes were gone from that, as they're 
erased from this ; for as your father often said : 
'No error ever was inspired or ever will be. 
Nothing is sacred that is wrong.' All evil, all 
mistakes, wherever found, should be removed 
or remedied. Revision should revise. And 



94 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

good men should be honest and declare that un- 
known error, which man voted in, is not so rev- 
erend but man, who sees the wrong, may vote 
it out again. What value has a vulgar word — 
except to breed a thousand more? What is 
misstatement but a text for every skeptic and 
agnostic in the world to build his arguments 
upon? What wall can stand when an imperfect 
stone supports the base, or crumbles in the 
center of the arch? A good book is the best of 
friends — an evil one an enemy. Let us beware 
which kind we choose. Facts do not make a 
bad one good. Poems and fictions make no 
good one bad. The only right which either has 
to be, lies in the ennobling, elevating thoughts 
which they inspire within the human heart! 

** On this a final word. To Donald Stuart I 
reiterate the one request I made, that he would 
make his love and friendship for the plowman 
bard the inspiring theme for some commemorat- 
ing work in honor of his name, and reaffirm 
what is my fixed belief, that these words, com- 
ing from his heart, at such a time, will meet a 
due reward. What need say more? The time, 
the will, the cause is his, and doubly now, since 
both in Scotland and at home, the over-saintly 
coward hands reach out to tear the laurel from 
the poet's brow and cast it on the ground. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 95 

** Donald, you are the knight to stand in this 
defence. I name you here protagonist. Who 
joins in my request, let him say *aye.' " 

There was a thundering shout — unanimously 
'*aye!" Not even Father Lindsay's little voice 
could utter **no,'* and Sandy shouted **r' four 
times, and followed it with all the letters of the 
alphabet until he reached the **Z." 

Donald spoke. *'Dear friends, the honor you 
confer, with grateful heart I here accept. The 
task you set is worthy those great men our 
country boasts, who honor all they touch. My 
hands are all unfitted for the work; but I'll do 
what I can. I'll think it over in the day, when 
working in the fields, and when the night has 
come, my heart shall speak and Barbara set 
down the words — fictions and dreams and im- 
perfections as they come; but they shall tell a 
story of the heart— a drama of Lang Syne." 

**'Tis well," said the schoolmaster, rising as 
he spoke, *'and I propose that, as each part is 
finished, Donald read it here, and we'll approve 
it as we go along." 

"Agreed," said Donald, *'only this — that our 
good friend and minister shall first revise the 
work." 

**With pleasure, if you wish," replied the 
good old man. **But when you pass through 



96 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Barbara's hands my task will be a light one. If I 
could rule, the censors of the press, the pulpit, 
and the stage should be, at least in part, com- 
posed of women. There may be matters 
where they show inferior to men, but in refine- 
ment—never." 

And the good ladies present, with one voice 
•^Agreed." 

*'Good," said the schoolmaster, with a merry 
laugh. **Then to the refinement and good taste 
of Barbara Stuart, Jean Cunningham and Ida 
Deans, we will commit the decorations of this 
room for the proposed event. It's now the end 
of the first week in May, and by the final Satur- 
day of the month — if Donald's ready with his 
first installment then — we'll have an entertain- 
ment here — ^first of a series which we will con- 
tinue every three months through the year. 
Are all agreed to this?" 

**Aye! aye! aye! aye!" 

**Listen, then. Each one must help the cause. 
Let those who sing, meet and decide what is 
appropriate, and practice it. Let those who 
write contribute prose or verse. Some read and 
some recite; some tell a story " 

This was Sandy's cue. 

** Story," he said excitedly, as he walked 
boldly out into the center of the room. ** Story. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 97 

Look ye here. I'm not much on stories, as ye 
ken, but when ye come to octual facts I'll never 
turn me back on ony mon. When I was travel- 
in' in the West " 

**Yes — yes," the master said, **we under- 
stand." 

*'Ye do?" said Sandy, **weel, ye're queck at 
comprehenden'. Oot there I met a mon keepin' 
a barroom full o' dreenks, an' twenty boozin' 
bummers sittin' round. Says I, *Have ye ony 
dreenks in here?' *I have'— says he— * all kinds.' 
*Ye're wrong,' I says— *ye have no scruples 
here!' Then he looked puzzled like; but after 
lookin' over me an' all the soakers sittin' round 
—he said he had. 'All right'— I says— *then I 
want three.' 'Three scruples, why?' says he. 
'Because,' I says, *three scruples make one 
drachm . ' Aye, ye may laugh, but liquor flowed 
like water after that, an' just as free!" 

**Sandy Ramsey," said the minister with a 
sober face, ''three weeks from now yourself 
and Father Lindsay there, shall meet in a 
debate." 

"Look here," said Sandy, "I never yet hired 
out to talk to phonographs an' hope I never 
will. I'll just debate mysel'." 

*'No. That's impossible; besides, each one 
must do his part." 



98 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

'*Then Til debate for both! For ye can juist 
rely ye'll want another ceelender for him be- 
fore he's thro'." 

**And Sandy," asked the minister, in his 
good-natured way, **what task will you set me?" 

**Ah, weel," said Sandy, 'Tm not jest per- 
teekeler so long's ye pray I won't backslide 
until I've sold old Deacon Drawback's mules. 
They'd make ye swear yersel'." 

**Might I suggest," said Donald, **as the time 
is short — let each do what he can. The master 
here allotting each his part, on Monday next. 
I shall be ready on the night of the last Satur- 
day in May, and this the place. What we take 
in shall all be given to such people in our midst 
as may be in distress. Is this agreed and under- 
stood?" 

**Yes— yes— right! right!" . 

** And to our worthy master let me say — there 
are four times a year when those who farm have 
holiday. First is the time we've chosen, at the 
end of May— when all the plowing and the 
planting's done, and when it's yet too early to go 
through the corn. Next comes on after hay and 
harvest and midsummer work — say August, 
then, for our next meeting here; and the one 
after that, when all the fall work's out of the 
way and the November nights freeze up the 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 99 

ground. And then midwinter, if you will, 
shall round our pleasant year. What say ye 
all to this?" 

"Good! Good!" 

**Friends," said the minister, **I had forgot. 
You'll not refuse the organ from the church, 
the singing-master and the young girls of our 
little choir? They're at your service any time. 
And now — good-night." 

**Not yet," said Donald, as he stayed their 
guest. **The honor you have done us we can 
never pay; but we can go to-morrow to your 
friendly church and give you our attention and 
encouragement, and every Sunday — every day 
— and each returning year — we promise here to 
greet you and uphold your hands, our honored 
and our best of friends, while life shall last!" 

So heart met heart and hand grasped hand. 
Tears filled the good man's eyes and deep emo- 
tion choked his voice as he dismissed them for 
the night. 

He raised his hands. All stood and bowed — 
and then his feeling words: 

*'May God in mercy keep you all! Good- 
night to every one, and take my blessing home." 

L. •; G. 



100 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



XII. 

If ever Nature holds sweet converse with 
mankind, 'tis when she wakes and throws the 
white robe of the winter off to don the dress of 
showery spring. Then is her soft voice full of 
sad regrets that mortals should have waited her 
so long. Tears in her eyes; love in her soft 
embrace; and promises of joys to be renewed 
and happiness assured in days to come. 

Into the fields she goes and, where she treads, 
the scented grass springs up, and where her lips 
have pressed, the perfumed flowers. She calls 
unto the south wind *'come," and then she 
hangs the tassels on the trees and covers all the 
woods with hues of green. There, under the 
dead leaves, the arbutus and anemones shall 
flower, and where the hedges blossom birds 
shall sing, and over all the hills, on field and 
tree, a wilderness of bloom — and then in sweet- 
est words she speaks: '*0 mortals, chide me 
not for the delay. I know you have been faith- 
ful and the winter long. Come take my hand 
and let us not forget. Here let us work to- 
gether all the sunny days, and I will bring you 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 101 

blessings manifold and aid you willingly and 
constantly, your faithful mistress and your 
loving friend!" 

man, ungrateful and unloving and unkind 
—what answer have you made to this appeal? 
Year after year, as Isis did of old, this sainted 
spirit comes and wooes you for your good ; but 
indolence has caught your ear, and all the yearn- 
ing of her loving heart is wasted in despair. 

Say not you never hear this voice — say rather 
that you never heed. Nature has few inter- 
preters. None understands the deep affections 
which are not revealed by human hearts and 
acts and words. None credits the unseen. 
Familiarity with things unknown — the visible 
invisible — has made all earth's great mysteries 
so common that men heed them not, nor see, nor 
hear, save as they're things of course. Who 
thinks on the unknown? Who translates words 
unspoken? Yet in the darkened chambers of 
the brain there is a mirror which reveals the 
shadow of a thought! On pathless seas the 
mariner beholds, within the glass, the coming 
storm, and in the binnacle a strip of steel which 
tells him his true course! In the deep woods 
and on the open wastes the Indian reads the 
signs which the Great Spirit sends! Dumb ani- 
mals are moved by unseen powers and know in- 



102 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

stinctively which hand is kind and which will 
do them harm ! 

Who wonders at these wondrous things or 
hears their voice? 

There is a language none has ever learned. 
It is the language of another world, which here 
we know by signs alone; but which, to him who 
thinks and feels, is more intelligent than all of 
Babel's tongues. 

The omens of disaster may be understood by 
him who wills to know. The thunder's dreaded 
tone we can translate. The frightful earth- 
quake, trembling in its rage, and like a giant 
Samson, seizing on the pillars of the world to 
cast them down, says why it comes. The so- 
called messages from Heaven are never mira- 
cles, but simple facts, and as an open book for 
all wise men to read; and Nature's gentle voice 
is plain as is a mother's calling in the night to 
loved ones she has lost. 

The Sunday morning found fair Barbara com- 
muning with herself, and musing over Nature 
which reflected happiness and vied with her in 
beauty and in smiles. Branches of bloom and 
knots of variegated flowers lay in the fragrant 
shade and yet she gathered more. 

**I hate to rob you, my sweet friends," she 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 103 

said, "but you shall be the incense on the altar 
at the church to-day, and there the best of men 
shall tell the worst of women she is wrong to 
offer you a sacrifice for his dear sake. 

Good Mr. Olds, who cares for souls, 
Each lovely flower that here unfolds 
Bears love for you, good Mr. Olds. 

** There, Joan, pray take them carefully and 
put them in the vases there, and keep them 
damp and in the shade. Yonder is Diccon in the 
wagon, now, and Donald helping mother. So 
run along and mind you three drive around by 
the north road and take the lame girl and her 
mother in, and give them what I gave you. 
Then hurry to the church and give these to the 
deacon to put on the pulpit, as I said, before 
the people come. Kemember now. Donald 
and I will go across the hill. Here, Luath, 
here! Comeback here, sir! He never sees a 
wagon but he wants to go, just like poor Sandy 
Ramsey's tongue. So you have come alone. 
Go bring your master, if you please, then we 
three sinners will be off to church. 

" * Welcome sweet day of rest 
That saw the Lord arise ; 
Welcome to this reviving breast 
And these rejoicing eyes — 
And these rejoicing eyes!' " 



104 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

*'Thanks, Barbara," said Donald, coming up, 
*'these good old words and tunes have my re- 
spect. They soothe some sorrowing heart— and 
fiction, fact, poem or sorriest prose that mortal 
ever penned, if it but do some good — is Heaven- 
inspired." 

The path they took across the fields led to a 
lane and this into a road that ran along the 
woods beneath the overhanging branches of the 
trees. Nothing was said, but thought was busy 
in the brain of both, and even Luath sometimes 
paused with a great look of wisdom in his eyes, 
but he was silent too. 80 they went on without 
a word until they reached a gate which was 
kept closed. As Donald opened it for Barbara, 
his eyes met hers. She seemed to read his 
thought. 

**Donald," she said, **you have been walking 
in a dream, and feel about you the same spell 
that's haunted me all day." 

"What makes you think so, Barbara?" 

*'Your thoughtful face; your attitude of lis- 
tening when you've paused; the intelligence 
which has lighted up your eye, when you have 
something heard." 

**What could I hear, dear Barbara?' " 

"Are there no voices then, besides our own, 
within these woods and fields?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 105 

"Why ask? We are alone." 

"Donald, we never are alone ! I read it in your 
face. Your thought is as my own. Tell me — 
why were you silent?" 

''Because I felt it would be sacrilege to speak 
when Nature's loving voice was sounding in our 
ears. You are right, dear Barbara, we are not 
alone. In woods or fields; in cot or palace; on 
ships at sea there is a friendly spirit comes by 
night and day and takes us by the hand and 
counsels us for good. Happy the man to whom 
that 'still small voice' shall not appeal in vain, 
and blessed be all who take into their homes 
and treasure in their hearts these messages of 
love!" 

"There, Donald, is the bell," said Barbara, as 
she paused and listened to its sound. "How 
harsh the note compared with what we've heard, 
and yet it chimes in unison or makes so sweet a 
discord that the angels love to listen to the 
sound." 

"Another proof, good wife, that things inani- 
mate can speak, each in its way — and some are 
heard in Heaven! There is a grand cathedral 
somewhere in the world, which people call *a 
prayer in stone.' Mute lips are often eloquent. 
Orisons devout are carved on Buddhists' images, 
or on the Indian rain-God's lips by penitential 



106 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

hands; and, trust me, Barbara, these are under- 
stood and answered in good time. But, come. 
The sermon for to-day was not to be within this 
wood, but in the church hard by. Yonder's 
the humble spire and weather-vane that points 
the way — the bell invites — and here the sinners 
come." 



**Love one another." 

Such the blessed theme on which good Mr. 
Olds discoursed in presence of the greatest gath- 
ering his church had ever seen. From all the 
hills, the country folks had come in honor of 
the day, the work, the man. The minister was 
at his best. The poverty of his surroundings 
could not take away the grandeur of that noble 
face; nor dim his intellect; nor change his sim- 
ple eloquence, nor its sublime effect. 

*'Love one another." As he uttered these 
three words he seemed inspired. He did not 
shout them forth as a command, nor utter them 
with cold indifference ; nor in perfunctory style 
speak that which must be spoken; nor give the 
subject as dead words to be discussed, then, one 
by one, to be dissected and laid bare; but, as a 
father might, he took the theme — **Love one 
another" — from his own o'erflowing heart and 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 107 

gave it as a blessing, Heaven sent, to those he 
knew and loved. 

**Love one another''— in the chureh,the school, 
the workshop, place of business, in the home 
by ties made sacred, for a common cause, for 
happiness, for good, for love itself, and all that 
love implies — **Love one another." 

**Be kind to youth and helplessness. Teach 
the young boy and girl an honest life — him to be 
just and her to never stray. Encircle them 
with all the loving ties your home can give, and 
when they leave you, let it be in tears and deep 
regret and the assurance that your love won't 
change, but they'll be welcome when they come 
back home. In middle life, or when old age 
steals on, love, do not desert, but hold them 
faithful still — brother and sister; man and wife; 
father and son ; the mother and her child ; lover 
and maid beloved; stranger and friend — 
where'er on earth you meet, or wheresoever 
you may make your home — by all the things 
worth living for in life, love one another and 
your God will love and honor you!" 

Words cannot tell the effect of words. They 
are the signs and symbols which, when given 
voice, can readily repeat the very shade of sense 
and sound of something heard before, but 



108 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

which, although reiterated till eternity, 
would ever lack the spirit which they first 
possessed. 

The time, the man, the cause which animates 
his soul; the vital spark which makes his words 
electrical, all pass, or in imagination only leave 
their trace. 

Thank God, the voice which spoke that day is 
not yet hushed, and those who heard are living 
still ; and love, grown cold before, is warm in 
many hearts whose home is there. The flowers 
Barbara gave are scentless, dead; but others 
bloom eternal in their place in memory of that 
happy day. And blessed be Providence which 
watches all our lives ! no flower has yet been 
brought by loving hands to deck a new-made 
grave on Scotland Hill. 

The service over and the last word said did 
not dismiss the gathered friends. Some stayed 
behind to take the good man's hand and give 
him thanks — Donald and Barbara to ask him to 
their house. Women and men and boys and 
girls for just a friendly word, and Sandy Kam- 
sey, when the preacher said **God bless you all," 
cried ** Second the motion!" and **Amen!" to 
show the working of the leaven in his heart, then 
went and took the hand of Father Lindsay, his 
great rival in debate, and called on all to ''wet- 
ness' ' he had no ill-will and would be easy on him 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 109 

when they came to talk— or, if Lindsay would 
tell him now what he was going to say, he'd 
make his argument against it light, to corre- 
spond, and anyhow he'd make defeat as easy as 
he could, for he had traveled and he knew the 
allowance should be made for country *'egner- 
ence," and if they wanted proof he'd tell them 
now a story that was just as true as any gospel 
Reverend Mr. Olds had ever preached. **Once 
on a time " 

But this was all he said-inside. The school- 
master and Father Lindsay led him out, in spite 
of all his gestures and protests, and calmed him 
down by promising that he should have an easy 
victory in the debate. 

**Here — whisper," said the master in his ear. 
**ril not give out the subject till the night has 
come, so Father Lindsay can't avail of outside 
help, and falls an easy victim to your ready 
wit." 

**A11 right," said Sandy, with a knowing 
wink, **but ef yer lookin' oot for somethin' gude 
ye'd better let me do the whole debate alone! 
I've traveled in the West, an' know a lot o' 
trecks. Ye mind McShaw? Weel, Mac was 
just a baby in me hands an' he is oot there yet 
a practicin' my style." 

"Of course — ^of course," his two companions 



110 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

said, and hurried him along the road— his legs, 
arms, tongue all running at one time and keep- 
ing him engaged till they were out of sight. 

**I hear as how he's been complainin' 'bout 
them mules," said Deacon Drawback, as he 
rolled some plug tobacco for his pipe, **but 
what does he axpect? He's talked their ears off. 
Talk'd 'em deaf an' dumb an' blind, an' they 
don't understand a cussed word he says. Well 
—never mind. I'll buy 'em back — half price." 

Having decided this, he started up the road, 
and all the listeners laughed and talked and 
took their several ways across the hills, and 
quiet reigned again about the empty church. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. Ill 



XIII. 

The Stuarts lingered when the other folks had 
gone, and went with Mr. Olds into the humble 
burial-ground which slopes towards the west, 
and stopped where one word, — *' Father"— 
marked a grave. On this, as each bent down , they 
placed the flowers they had brought— the poor 
old widowed mother taking those which she had 
pinned upon her breast and placing them with 
trembling hands, said: **Duncan, these are 
mine," and bowed her head to hide her tears. 
"Love one another." After death— beyond the 
grave — there is no limit where affection stops 
and says this is the end. 

From Barbara's loving gift the minister took 
but the poorer part, and all the richer ones he 
gave to his dead friend. *'Love one another" 
—parting is but a name, and friendship that is 
true extends beyond the present life to be re- 
newed in heaven. 

They turned away and, as they came into the 
road again, there underneath the great red oak, 
which love transformed into a balm of Gilead 



112 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

tree, Diccon and Joan were practicing the text 
— his arm around her waist, his lips to hers. 
'*Love one another." Happy hallowed words, 
and understood by all— blessing the living and 
the dead, the highest and the lowliest, intelli- 
gence and ignorance alike — the sweetest, kind- 
est, holiest law that God e'er gave to man ! 
Take this alone, and follow it, all others may 
be put asida — all mortals would be blessed. 

Starting home, Donald and Barbara passed the 
cottage where the lame girl lived, and there 
they found her, sitting in the shade, surrounded 
by a lot of little friends and, as they passed, 
they heard these words: 

**We always loved you, Mary, didn't we? 
Yes, and we always will." 

**Love one another." innocence of youth- 
ful days! How warm your words; how sweet 
your voice. Your soothing tones can turn mis- 
fortune into joy — affliction into patience and 
content. Keep still your faith in better things. 
The time is long, but love will lead you to them 
yet, no matter what your state. 

**Barbara," said Donald, as they walked along, 
**the world still holds the many like myself 
who doubt and disbelieve much that is told and 
taught; but there are truths, not registered in 
books — words coming straight from what we 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 113 

say is heaven, and bringing peace and comfort 
to the human heart. What message is this, 
Barbara?" 

**Love, Donald, nothing more. It is the lan- 
guage which all Nature speaks, and blessed is 
he who hears and heeds." 

"Kiss me, Barbara. My thought, like yours 
and all the rest, tends to that pleasant theme, 
and this great truth all know and feel, that 
while this love is in our hearts we never can 
do wrong." 

**Right, Donald; Nature overworks out good, 
and we are but the instruments and agents of 
His will who rules in this great world." 

"Yes, Barbara, I know that this is true, and 
he does well who day by day uses the gifts 
with which he is endowed to help in some good 
work — to cause some tree to grow; some grass 
to spring; some flower to bloom; some field to 
yield; some dumb thing to rejoice; some gen- 
erous, kindly word to be proclaimed; some 
cheering, hopeful message to be written down; 
some sorrow to be soothed, some wound re- 
lieved ; something to be done that's worthy to 
be called the work of man and is approved by 
Him who placed us here and in whose fields we 
toil." 

"Your pardon, Donald," said Barbara, with a 



114 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

laugh. **It is the gate which stops your speech 
— not I. But we have come to our own grounds, 
and yonder in the shade we'll sit awhile and 
talk — and when the dinner's ready, Joan will 
call. See— there is our old rock beneath the 
tree where we have sat and talked so many 
times, and where you cut the initials of our 
names, in our first days of love." 

"Yes, Barbara. Dear the spot to me. I 
always have respected it, and always shall. 
There is the same old tree, with its outstretched 
and sheltering arms — only they're longer now 
and overhang the road, and bend so lovingly 
above the spot, they seem protecting it. And 
there's the hawthorn we transplanted that 
November day, in blossom now. Bless the old 
place and all the memories it conjures up of 
Barbara Douglas and her sweet girl's face, 
when first she listened here." 

**And am I changed then, Donald?" 

**No, Barbara, only to be more loving and 
more kind. Just as the tree is changed, which 
now extends its arms as if to clasp me in a kind 
embrace, while still it steadfast stands, immov- 
able as is the rock, and ever constant in this 
changing world." 

**Bless you, dear Donald. Here is a kiss for 
that. And now go on." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 115 

**I cannot, Barbara. All my thought has 
changed. This spot brings back my dreams, 
and well it does. Do you forget my task? The 
work is new. The time is short. This very 
afternoon I must begin to put my fancies into 
shape and bring my characters upon the scene." 

**What characters?" 

**Strangers, Barbara. Except the poet Burns, 
and some he mentions in his letters and his 
songs, there is no history. A dozen words tell 
all have ever said or done. The poet's father, 
brother, friends — the characters of which he 
speaks — are mostly mentioned in a line, or else 
are merely names of those who never speak, 
familiar as they seem. Highland Mary — Bonnie 
Jean — by love and genius made immortal names 
— have left no records of their words, no mes- 
sages of love or joy — no fond or fateful 
history. The memory of their love alone re- 
mains." 

**Then, Donald, build your tale on that. A 
simple story of the heart, without one modern 
defect or device. No murders and no myster- 
ies, intrigues or duels; no unsexed women; no 
unmanly men; no faithless wives, lords, ladies, 
servants, wills, fortunes, long-lost heirs; no 
poor girl in distress, with but a 'beggarly two 
thousand pounds'; no wonderful escapes; no 



116 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

going* up to London' and no coming back; no 
balls or parties— scandals in society — no " 

'**Stop— stop— my gentle, guileless wife— I 
can't evolve an unknown race. Leave me a 
man or two, a little landscape and some sheep 
upon the hills. I'll plan a pastoral of other 
days; but Nature's hand grasps many things 
and I must take the gifts she brings and mould 
them as I may." 

*'Your pardon, Donald. What I wished to 
say was only this — that you'd not follow in the 
beaten track, but keep to Nature's ways and all 
the dictates of your generous heart — for therein 
you are strong. Fame's temple stands upon a 
hill, and he will reach it first who chooses the 
right path, then boldly keeps his way. Let not 
your humble lot make you distrust yourself. 
You yet may rise. Where shallow wits pose in 
prosperity, you have a better claim— for well I 
know that only overwork and poverty and con- 
stant cares have so far kept you down and sunk 
you out of sight." 

**Thanks, Barbara. You are a goodly moni- 
tor, and as I keep my faith in many things, I'll 
keep faith in myself. Without a touch of fear 
or thought of pride, I'll do for good. Then, as 
my work shall merit, let it live or die. Per- 
chance it may be blessed— just as my labor has 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 117 

been in the fields, when it has brought forth in 
its time, despite of cold, dark days, and killing 
frosts and burning suns, and other sad dis- 
couragements." 

**Be sure then, Donald, your good work shall 
thrive, and by your fruits you shall be known, 
although it may not be in present time. In our 
orchard here the Summer Bough and the Ked 
Astrachan are apples pleasant to the sight and 
taste, but never last. Others there are have 
some corrupting spot, and hurry to decay; but 
yours shall be the honest Kusset, Northern Spy, 
and Winter-White, which grow the better as the 
days pass by, and dearer that the others all are 
gone." 

** Yet, Barbara, ephemeral things are what the 
people crave. Something that neither asks nor 
gives a thought; or rather say, something that 
comes from nothing and returns to it. Let me 
die poor, forsaken and despised — for rather that, 
than come to this. But let's go home. Yonder 
is Luath bringing Joan, both wondering why we 
do not come — not knowing in their simple 
hearts, that we, the man and woman in this 
Eden here, grown tired of what is given us to 
do, seek out the tree of knowledge which shall 
drive us forth." 



118 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



XIV. 

The dinner over, Diccon came, all dressed up 
in his Sunday clothes, with hat in hand, and 
said he thought— he'd like to know — if — he 
*' could take one of the horses for a little ride." 
** Alone?" asked Donald, with a quiet smile. 
**Ye— es, sir. Yes— we only want the one." 
•*We? Who? There are two, then-eh?" 
**Well, yes, sir. Just at present, sir, we're 
two." 

**But if you could be, you d be one — eh, Dic- 
con—eh?" 
**Maybe we will be, sir, when we come back." 
**Well, Diccon, you're considerate for the 
horse. When going he is fresh, and draws the 
two — but coming back, he's tired, and draws 
but one. The other walks then, Diccon, I sup- 
pose?" 

** You're good at guessing, sir; but you are 
wrong." 

**Well, then, perhaps you'll leave the other 
where you go." 
*'No, sir— you'll have to guess again." 
**It may be you will not return, yourself?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 119 

"Oh, yes, sir, yes. I wouldn't leave you for 
the world— besides, she couldn't drive the 
horse." 

**She? Who?" 

**Her, if you please." 

**Whichher?" 

**Theoneyou caught me kissing, sir, to-day." 

"What— Joan?" 

"My Joan. That is, she's your Joan yet— 
until v/e come back home— and then, sir, if 
you'll kindly keep us on, we'll do you double 
service all our lives." 

"Go call her here, and bring my mother and 
my wife. Come here, my gentle Joan, and an- 
swer for your crimes. So, Diccon kissed you 
at the church?" 

"Ye — yes, sir; but I told him it was wrong." 

"How was it, then, you didn't strike him 
dumb with yoar indignant glance?" 

"He was so close, I couldn't, sir." 

"Why didn't you leave him, then, and come 
away?" 

"Why, sir, he never could have kissed me if I 
had— besides that would not have been accord- 
ing to the text." 

"Oh, yes— I see. You take things literally." 

"1 don't know what that is, sir; but I never 
took a kiss afore, so please excuse mistakes." 



120 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

'*Ask pardon of the law. Both Diccon and 
yourself must answer this." 

*'That's what I told him, sir, along the road. 
We must be married now." 

**You told him that?" 

**Yes, sir, somebody had to tell him, for he 
didn't know, and what my mother says is true: 

*The man who kisses with delight 
Must marry you before the night! 
And, should his kisses e'er grow cold, 
Divorce before the day is old !' " 

**0h, innocent daughter of a knowing mother ! 
You've no time to lose. Diccon, you love this 
girl, and will be honest, faithful all your life?" 

**I promise, sir, with all my heart." 

**And you — confiding Joan?" 

**0h, sir, if I am ever anything but faithful to 
him, or to you, or to your mother, or my mis- 
tress here— then drive me from this place; but 
let us stay and work for you and we'll love one 
another all our lives." 

'*Diccon," said Donald, **here's some money 
— there, a girl who will make you a good wife. 
Don't waste your time; but get the horse and 
go. Don't hurry back. I'll do your work to- 
night; and, while you're hitching up, I'll write 
a line for you to Mr, Olds." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 121 

**God bless you, sir." 

'*My mistress, too," said Joan. 

''And don't forget the text," said Barbara, 
"and Heaven will bless you two." 

Donald went in to write the note, and now his 
mother had her chance. Some little questions 
had occurred to her and these she fired relent- 
lessly at Joan, while Barbara, more considerate 
and less curious, helped the girl to dress. 

**Going to be married, eh?— Huh. When is 
it going to be? And where? Who is going to 
stand up with you? Did Diccon understand? 
Does your mother know? Will you know what 
to say? Were you ever married before? When 
are you coming back? Or are you going away? 
Why didn't you say something? Nobody 
ever said a word to me. How do you know 
you'll be satisfied? How long was your mother 
married? When were you born? What did 
you let him kiss you for, if you didn't want to 
get married? How do you know he loves you 
now? What is the color of your mother's hair?" 
And other all important things, appropriate to 
the time which might have been extended, but 
the horse appeared, and Donald handed in the 
prize and Diccon took the note. Then all said : 

"Well, good luck!" "Good-bye!" "Take 
care of youselves!" "Don't run away!" and 



122 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Hurrry up!" and "Hurry back!" and similar 
original remarks by which the parting guest is 
cheered upon his way. 

The worthy three stood at the gate and 
watched the couple driving down the road till 
they were out of sight. Then Donald turned, 
and with a twinkle in his eye, said: 

'^Mother, all those questions must have made 
you tired as they did Joan. Will you go in now 
and lie down?" 

"Well, yes," she said, '*! will, a little while; 
but do you think it's right?" 

"What, mother?" 

"Why—didn't you say they were going to be 
married?" 

"Oh, yes—yes— mother. That's all right!" 

"And you're quite sure the horse won't run 
away?" 

"Yes — yes. He will go slow. Our horses are 
never in a hurry to go to the same place twice 
— especially on Sunday." 

"Well, then, I'll go, and take my nap. Good- 
bye !" And so she went inside and talked herself 
to sleep. Barbara laughed outright. 

"Donald," she said, "what sermon ever had 
so sudden an effect?" 

"None that I ever heard of," he answered 
with delight. "If that old horse can only make 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 123 

2.40 now, in twenty minutes' time the Rev. Mr. 
Olds will make 2.01. That's quick dispatch 
and happiness enough for any man. The seed 
of the morning is the harvest of the afternoon. 
His sermon yields him fruit before it's hardly 
ripe— in fact, while yet it's green. Thanks to 
our hasty Darby here, and his impatient Joan." 

*'No wasted time, or wasted words," said 
Barbara, laughing still. "They jumped at this 
as if it were their only chance. Oh, it was too 
ridiculous!" 

*'Yes, yes," said Donald, **but you under- 
stand these two took the one step that led from 
the sublime. We laugh; but Nature has her 
way, and where she speaks of love all hearts 
are moved — the humblest as the best. love, 
thy story told, no matter where — inside the pul- 
pit or upon the stage — within the camp or by 
the cottage fire, is the one theme of which the 
world ne'er tires! But come — this day's too 
good to go to waste. Let's go up to the barn 
and open the big doors and let the wind blow 
through ; and give the horses some green grass ; 
and bring some water from the well; and sit 
down on the hay, and there resume our talk. 
To-morrow we'll have much to do, and we shall 
have no time." 

*' With all my heart," said Barbara. **Go and 



124 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

open up the doors, and I will see all's right 
about the house, and put the things away, and 
come when I have done." 

And Donald did not have to wait. Within 
five minutes she was standing at his side and 
both were looking from the great doors to the 
north, where the blue hills were stretched along 
the sky. 

"A glorious scene. Eh, Barbara?" 

**Yes, Donald. It is beautiful. No wonder 
you admire it." 

**Barbara, it seems to me just like a picture 
which the border of this opening frames— a 
mammoth painting hung on heavenly walls. 
That was the scene my father loved, and here 
he used to sit on summer afternoons and watch 
the clouds, and say those hills reminded him of 
Scotland. Barbara, this landscape and my book 
of Barns shall Jurnish me the inspiration for the 
task I've set." 

**But, Donald, would you not love to see the 
very scenes which you must sketch? Or mingle 
with the people who could tell you more of 
those of whom you'd write?" 

**I would; but as it stands with me to-day, I 
think I never shall. Perhaps 'tis best; for in 
imagination I can see the scenes and faces which 
I would not have disturbed. How poorly would 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 125 

the wretched street of Gretna Green repeat to 
me the romance of the place; or Ecclefechan's 
stony landscape show the greatness and the 
grandeur of Carlyle— or Abbotsford portray the 
mighty 'Wizard of the North'— and as for Robert 
Burns, why need I ask from the surroundings of 
his life that which would make him better 
known or better loved? His home is in the hu- 
man heart and Nature tells his history. There's 
not a wave that rolls and surges on the Firth of 
Clyde but kisses reverently the shores of Ayr 
and murmurs in the ear of Scotland a refrain 
which tells of days Lang Syne. There's not a 
bird that sings within the woods of Doon, but 
in its plaintive note recalls the poet's sorrowing 
lay. There's not a tree that waves or flower 
that blooms but tells some story of the one 
whose ways were Nature's own — whose songs 
were of the heart. The heather trodden under 
foot—the blue-bell broken from its stem— are 
emblems of his life o'erthrown while yet 'twas 
in its bloom. The modest daisy turned beneath 
the sod, 

** *Like artless maid 
By love's simplicity betrayed 



Low in the dust' 
bemoans his fate as he lamented hers, and in her 



126 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

sweet, remembering way, bedecks the narrow 
bed where now he lies! 

* * gentle Nature, thou art ever kind ! And he 
who loves thee well will never need another 
friend ! Within thy generous heart no harsh re- 
proaches bide — no faith in man is lost — no kind- 
ness is forgot! Thy love eternal calls thy 
children home, and when their weary work is 
done, to thy fond bosom they may come and 
sleep upon thy breast." 

There was a silence after this which Barbara 
did not break; bul as she saw her husband lost 
in thought, she jveiio and took his hand and sat 
down by his side. There was a bond of sympa- 
thy between the two which had no need of 
words. Nature was speaking now to both their 
hearts. The murmuring wind was bringing in 
the gossip of the outer world. The twittering 
swallow's call; the pigeon's **coo"; the blue- 
bird's loving cry. The fragrance of the blossom- 
ing orchards sweetened all the air— and, yonder 
in the shimmering light, hung Nature's painting 
close against the sky. Why should not man, at 
such an hour, and in a scene like this, hold 
some communion with his better thought and 
feel some love and sympathy for man? 

What was the value of the text which they 
had heard to-day, if those were only empty 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 1^7 

words and had no other use than pleasant 
sound? 

How poorly great Guatama's blameless life 
appealed to millions of the Buddhists of the 
world if kindness and forbearance, charity and 
love had all been lived and lost! 

How vain the Savior's sacrifice — matchless 
example of pure sympathy for man— if all that 
wondrous wealth of love divine did not inspire 
a reverence endless and a love as deep! 

**Love one another," is the law of laws. 
** Whatsoever ye would that others should do 
unto you, that do ye also unto them." This is 
the heathen's and the Christian's great com- 
mand, and comes direct from Heaven! 

Let no one grow so wise in this our little 
world that he can sneer at those who keep an 
open heart where love and charity can enter in. 

There comes a day — before or after death— 
when God's love is the only guard that watches 
while we sleep. 

"Forgive me, Donald," Barbara said at last, 
**but are you thinking out your story now, and 
shall I write it down?" 

**Not yet, dear Barbara — time enough. Just 
now I want to think and talk and call these 
stranger subjects to my aid and hear what 
they've to say. But after supper, Barbara, to- 



128 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

night, and every night from this time on, this 
task shall take the place of all the pleasant 
readings which have passed. I'll come in early 
from the fields, and after other work is done, 
then for my own." 

** Donald, I wish that I could aid you more. 
You're sure of everything?" 

** Yes, Barbara — of everything except myself." 

**Fear nothing, Donald. Everything you say 
has worth and strength. Your spirit and your 
sympathy are sure." 

**Barbara, you mistake. Good qualities suc- 
ceed in practiced hands; but, even in the fields, 
worth, strength and sympathy will not suflSce. 
A giant cannot turn a decent furrow for the 
corn until he learns to plow; nor can I hope to 
shine in arts I've never learned." 

**Donald, now you mistake. No matter what 
the book, I love to read the words which come 
straight from the author's heart, without the 
aid of useless ornament. These, often coarse 
and sometimes ungrammatical, have yet the fire 
which gives them lasting life." 

** That's true, sometimes, I will confess, and 
in the drama more especially ; and therefore, 
that has always seemed to me the grandest field 
for authorship. The characters walk forth — not 
visions, but realities. They live and move in- 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 129 

spired by love or hate, ambition or their various 
desires — succeed or fail; do good or evil — as 
you will— and all the purpose of their coming 
and their going they relate — as Shakspeare 
tells, even 

** * Life's but a walking shadow — 
A poor player 

Who struts and frets his hour 
Upon the stage* 
And then is heard no more!* 

Eureka!-— Barbara, see how a little thought or 
talk may end. Five minutes since I did not 
know how I could use the men and women who 
came knocking at my heart and brain to do me 
service. Now I'll have them come into our little 
room and tell their story. I will interpret — you 
shall write it down — and it shall be a drama of 
departed days, with many characters — Burns 
and his father, brother, many friends. High- 
land Mary — Bonnie Jean— drawn and arrayed as 
best I may. Holy Willie— Tam O'Shanter— the 
good Earl of Glencairn shall be the heroes of 
their histories in which their author shall him- 
self appear — and all the rest shall come from 
the invisible air — as Ariel came to Prospero — to 
do a willing task." 



130 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



XV. 

The afternoon was passing by. The sun was 
on the western slope; the noiseless footsteps of 
retreating hours unchallenged passed the 
silent guards. Nothing spoke of change; but 
quietly ten thousand ambushed figures came 
and crept towards the east. Then at a sign, 
these shadows rose and pointed to the dial 
which proclaimed their reign was close at hand. 

Donald Stuart slept. 

Stretched on his rustic bed of fragrant hay, 
with Luath guarding at the door, he passed an 
hour in peaceful dreams. The work and worry 
of the week just passed were all forgotten now, 
and in their place came visions of Arcadian 
days on Caledonian hills. Sometimes he smiled 
and sometimes sorrow stole across his face, and 
Barbara knew that sympathetic look was for 
the people of his brain who told their mournful 
story to their best of friends. 

**Sleep on, dear Donald, dream," she said. 
**Forever must his waking or his sleeping hours 
be blessed, who so forgets himself for other's 
good— sleep on." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 131 

And saying this, she'd sit and watch, then go 
and come again, till her returning footfall told^ 
him she was near, and then he waked and 
smiled. 

'*Ha! ha!" he said. **How gallant husbands 
are ! A lover, now, would sit and watch a whole 
night through and swear that he was never 
tired." 

**Well, yes," said Barbara, **and just to prove 
he'd lived and lied for love he'd sleep the whole 
day long the moment he was once alone. Rouse 
up, good Mr. Lotus-eater, if you please. Though 
you are in the land of dreams it is not 'always 
afternoon' in this meridian and night will soon 
be here." 

''Well, Barbara, let it come. We'll be pre- 
pared. The lovers won't be back till after dark, 
and as the song says 

<< <Work is to be done 

Before the setting of the sun. * 

Luath, go bring the cows up from the lower 
lane. I'll get the pails and put clean straw be- 
neath the sheds and bedding in the horses' 
stalls, and feed in mangers, hay in racks, and 
water in the drinking-pails. There's nothing 
else but fun upon a farm — excepting work. 
And that, on Sundays, turns to cheerful play. 



132 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

" * We J come sweet day of rest' '* 

But come to think, I will not sing the 'rest,' 
but work it out in quite another tune. 0, sweet 
is milk, and sweet the waj^ we coax it in the 
pail— especially in the fly-switching time of 
night when milkmaids moan, and dairymen deal 
out 'contagion to this world' !" 

''Right, Donald— laugh," said Barbara. "A 
light heart makes an easy task, and while I'm 
in the humor, I'll go put the supper on and fix 
the south room for the newly married pair. 

'' 'Let the world slip; we'll ne'er be younger,' 

Man nor wife, nor maid nor man. Be jovial then. 

^Before the setting of the sun./ 
I'll finish up your song, and then we'll tune an- 
other to a merrier note to end this happy day." 

"Great happiness comes slow," Donald said 
at supper-time, "and so will come our happy 
pair. They can't forbear to drive around and 
see their folks and tell their friends. Then, 
more to spare their blushes than the horse, 
they'll drive home slowly so they can't be seen 
till after dark." 

"How well you know," said Barbara, with a 
laugh in which old Mrs. Stuart joined. 

"Why not," said Donald. "When I first loved 
you, I never dared to look you in the face; and 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 133 

if I met you on the road Yd tumble over the 
first fence and hide in the long grass or in the 
rye, until you passed; and when I saw you 
coming to the house, my refuge was the fields, 
or woods, or barn, where I would stay all day 
or till they came and told me you had gone." 

**Yes, I remember that," the old lady said, 
with many a laugh; **but Donald always was 
the biggest fool " 

**0f course," said Donald; **but the horse is 
at the gate. I'll go and put him up, and you 
two must receive the two unfortunates just as 
you would two high-born guests who honored 
us by coming to our house." 

So they were ushered in with all the honors 
due a king and queen. ** Welcome!" **Come 
in!" *'Take off your things." '*Now make 
yourselves at home." **Your room is ready — 
if you'd like to retire." ** Well, then, all right — 
come in to supper first!" 

These were the greetings which upset them 
quite, and stopped their speech, and made them 
sit and blush and stare and smile a ** sickly 
smile." The climax came when Donald en- 
tered playfully and kissed the bride, and slap- 
ping Diccon on the back, said: **Lucky dog, to 
win the prize!" Then asked fair Joan for the 
certificate which made her his. And Diccon 



134 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

stood up like a man and said: **My wife!" with 
that possessive air which men assume when 
talking of their chattels and their goods— then, 
starting in to supper, stumbled over something 
on the floor, and tore her skirt, and grasped two 
chairs and then sat down in both, and proved 
that love is something after all— because it 
makes a man a fool and shows that 

"Joy shall be in Heaven over one" 

sinner that is caught, more than ninety and 
nine others who escape. 

But there they sat as in a dream — their wed- 
ding supper served by the good people of the 
house to just their humble selves. However, 
they partook, and mumbled thanks, and stum- 
bled out, and wandered aimlessly about the 
south end of the house, and leaned upon the 
gate, and whispered what no one will ever know 
or tell, and after all was quiet, stole inside and 
sat down in the dark. 

"Two souls with but a single thought'* 

made happy by a text. 

*'Were you in earnest, Donald?" asked his 
mother with a knowing smile, when once more 
they were left alone. 

**Yes, mother — Barbara, yes— and never more 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 135 

in all my life. The room which Barbara pre- 
pared we thought scarce good enough for him 
who tried to do us harm. Thank Heaven, it's 
none too fine for those who do us good. 

*'As for the other service we have rendered 
them — that is a duty we should gladly pay. 
We owe it to ourselves as well as to the helpers 
in our house and one besides I need not name. 
Love is the master here to-night and we are 
only servants in his lordly halls." 



136 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



XVI. 

Close now, glorious day, thy record is 
secure. The white stone is set up — the mark is 
made in all the calendars of time. Each heart 
beneath this humble roof shall call thee blest 
while life shall last. 

Good mother, go now to your peaceful sleep — 
joy in your heart and laughter on your lips ; 
dumb animals without, lie still, protected by 
the hand of care; dog at the door, take these, 
the remnants of the feast— not seven baskets' 
full, but what is more a miracle, it is enough — 
and as most suppers go,to the poor dogs of this 
bone-giving age, it is a feast indeed. As you 
have watched, good Luath, those who call thee 
friend repay. All rest secure. All be at peace. 
And open now that little room — the hallowed 
home of man and wife— where during all the 
past and happy years, the master and the mis- 
tress of the house have held their sweet dis- 
courses, and have read the histories of lives as 
peaceful and as happy as their own. 

The palace of an empire, with its lofty halls 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 137 

and endless colonnades may never shelter true 
content— but here four humble walls, adorned 
by loving hands, and sacred to a simple honest 
life, make still the happy home, where man 
and woman, love and peace, may dwell in hap- 
piness while life shall last! 

**Donald," said Barbara, '*how sweet the air 
that enters in these open windows, is it not?" 

**It should be," said he, **for it comes across 
the miles of orchards lying to the north. See, 
the white trees show yet. There is no moon ; 
but there the Dipper and the Pole-star shine — 
and there's the very scene we saw this after- 
noon, which father always called the Scottish 
hills." 

'*Yes, Donald, lovely as before, but altered 
by the darkness, as once we saw it in a theatre, 
when the same scene was shifted quietly and 
changed from day to night." 

•* Thanks, Barbara, for the thought. That 
scene no longer seems the picture of the after- 
noon, but is the curtain which shuts out the 
distant shores of Scotland from my view — the 
act-drop which shall rise and show the very 
scene of which I've dreamed — the honest peo- 
ple I have met — the loving faces that have 
looked in mine — who come to visit me in house 
and barn and field. Behind that scene they're 



138 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

gathered now and I can see them plainly, as I 
hear and see them in my dreams." 

**They come to see you, Donald— how?" 

**As strangers come along the road, who stop 
a moment at the gate, and then walk bqldly in. 
Some do not even knock, nor heed the sign: 
*this is my busy day' — but there they sit and 
will not be denied till I have heard them." 

**Indeed; that's strange." 

*'It is. So strange it sometimes startles me; 
for most are those I never saw before, and some 
I never care to see again." 

"And they are your familiars?" 

**Yes, and seem to know that I will need their 
services, and put them all to work — the honest 
at some good, the bad at evil things— and that 
I'll make myself responsible for all they say or 
do!" 

"Then you'll have much to answer for, I fear, 
and should demand their characters." 

"These I may give, but not receive, dear Bar- 
bara. The painter sketches from a scene; the 
builder works from a design; artists and sculp- 
tors have their models set before them; but 
those who work out dreams must use the agents 
Nature sends, and take them as they come." 

"Which Nature sends! Then men do not 
create?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 139 

"It is their claim; but is it true? To my 
poor mind all things exist— thought simply calls 
them forth obedient to our wish. Man is the 
agent of the higher powers ; but his intelligence, 
though like a God's, is not creative nor su- 
preme — for if it were, all mystery would end 
and man would reign in Heaven." 

**Thanks, Donald. I am glad there is one 
man who doesn't think he knows all things on 
earth, and in the skies above and in the waters 
under them." 

**Ah, Barbara, in how brief a space of time 
men could give thanks for what they know ; 
but prayers would be eternal should they ask 
for what they've never learned. How grand 
those old philosophers who besought the Un- 
known Gods and Unseen Spirits of the earth and 
air to help their wandering thoughts. In pres- 
ent times, how modest and sublime the greatest 
men of all the world who ask the Ruler of the 
universe to guide their failing steps. How 
beautiful the poet's invocation to his muse to 
inspire his thought and set his words on fire. 

**But, Barbara, we must rest. Our pleasant 
talks are done. Our work begins. The char- 
acters are ready on the scene, and what they 
have to say and do they're eager to impart. 

"Listen. I almost hear their voices in the 



140 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

night— some happy and some sorrowful, and 
some with scraps of romance and of song— -and 
told so quokly that there's hardly time to set 
their sayings down. But it must be. In less 
than three weeks' time the first part of their 
story must be sketched, rewritten and revised. 
So let us note it well— a silent record— name- 
less to all except ourselves until the night it 
must be told. There is your table and your 
easy-chair, and there your pens and ink and 
paper and the light— and there's a kiss for all 
your love and kindness of these many days!— 
and yonder, underneath the bordering sky, the 
curtain rolling slowly upward shows the scene. 
Is it reality— or but a vision passing in the 
night? Where are the forms familiar to the 
place? And will they come unsummoned here 
—or do they wait my call? 0, Muse, who 
ministers in peaceful haunts, presiding over 
groves and growing fields, guide me where I 
shall find the shepherd and his flock— the peas- 
ant at his plow— and where the loving swains 
rest in the shade and listen to the distant pipe. 
There let me come and pass the afternoon in 
their good company! Bonnie Scotland, on thy 
heath-clad hills let me lie down in thoughtful 
sleep and dream a drama of the bygone 
days." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 141 

**Lulled by the murmuringsof Ayr and Doon, 
bring memories of their poet, Burns ! 

**Call Mary Campbell m her artless ways, and 
let the lovers sit beneath the scented shade of 
yonder hawthorn tree and pass the all too short 
and happy day ! 

*' Light up the house where peasants gather 
round the family fire, and cotters read again 
from the great Bible in the hall the words of 
comfort and of peace ! 

**Then take me to the town of Ayr. To the 
auld Inn and Tarn O'Shanter, Souter Johnny 
and their spree— the landlady and all her gra- 
cious talk before the going home. 

**Let Robert meet his Bonnie Jean, and with 
the ones he loved revisit Alloway. 

**Then Tarn O'Shanter and his midnight ride 
— the kirk by night — and the lone road where 
carles and witches scare him o'er the Doon ! 



** Shift then the scene to Mossgiel Farm, and 
all the struggles known on its cold soil. The 
days of toil and dreary nights — the only light 
the weird sheen of Coila's vision and the glim- 
mering biggin fire ! Bring Highland Mary back 
— a faded dream— his love again in Heaven ! 



142 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"And now to Elliesland — the Ingleside— 
Burns on his birthday, in his brightest hour, 
when he acknowledged Jean Armour his wife! 
Glencairn their guest, and all the country met 
around their fire. 

**Bring these to me, and as I welcome them 
with loving heart, so will I tell the world my 
dream!" 



BOOK II. 



A DRAMA OF DAYS LANG SYNE. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 146 



BOOK II. 



Bonnie Doon. 



A DRAMA of DAYS LANG SYNE. 



PART FIRST. 

Last Saturday in May— and Decoration Day 
it chanced this year— hence double holiday on 
Scotland Hill. A day to bless the living and 
the dead— a day on which the sun had set in 
peace. 

Up in the western sky fair Venus shone, and 
the thin crescent of the moon looked down 
upon the silent burying-ground where slept the 
dead beneath a coverlid of flowers. 

Within the schoolhouse, soon as darkness 
came the lights were lit, revealing pictures 
hung about the walls, and bordered with fresh 
blossoms set in evergreens, or circled with great 
wreaths of laurel, holly, oak and pine. 

Shakspeare and Irving and their friends were 



146 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

there — Scott, Cooper, Longfellow, Tennyson, 
Hawthorne, Poe, and that long line of literary 
lights whose glory has encircled all the world — 
and, in the center where the platform stood, 
masked in by branches to the opened window - 
tops, a life-size painting showed the poet Burns 
—and on either side, a picture from his works 
completed the effect. 

All seats were filled and many stood about 
the door, or at the windows, which were opened 
wide that all might see and hear. Diccon and 
Joan were there, both on one chair it seemed, 
they sat so close; and Deacon Drawback stayed 
outside to watch his mules — which he had just 
bought back for **only half the money Ramsey 
paid"— and Sandy told his friends inside, it had 
to be— either the mules must go, or he must 
learn to swear, and so they went— about the 
only time they'd done so since they had been 
his. 

On the left the organ and the organist and 
little choir, and on the right a desk with stu- 
dent's lamp and Barbara's manuscript; and 
Barbara herself, with Donald and his mother by 
his side, sat in the corner near, where they 
would take least room — and on the platform, 
like a patriarch, chosen to preside, the good old 
minister, all honored and all loved. From his 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 147 

lips came the words of welcome— announce- 
ment of the August meeting, a blessing and a 
prayer— and then the music by the choir, with 
other voices joining in the proper and im- 
proper place. Then recitations of a humorous 
kind, followed by girls in white and tartans, 
giving old-time songs— then the schoolmaster 
with some curious verses of his own, which no 
one but himself could understand, but which, 
as he announced, would win a prize to any 
scholar of that school who should correctly tell 
the different languages, abbreviations and quo- 
tations, and what each meant — the answers to 
be handed in at their meeting at this place in 
August next. After which, as he proclaimed 
with serious face, the great debate between the 
well known orators. Father Lindsay and Sandy 
Ramsey, who would now stand forth and dis- 
cuss the Zeu-glou-idio-cO'hem'O-fisty'isty'Cuss! 

**What cuss?'* asked Sandy, with his leery 
look, and made the schoolmaster repeat amid 
the snickering of the crowd. Father Lindsay 
never moved a muscle of his stolid face; but 
Sandy who had stood forth in his pride, until 
the subject, now first heard, submerged him, 
looked as wise as Solomon and twice as wicked 
as two Hamans rolled in one. 

"Look here," he said, ''I'm out of politics. 



14S ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

and I ha' done my princeepel travelin' in the 
West, but if ye thenk a few New England words 
can fluster me, ye'll mess yer guess. I have 
the soobject an' I'll do me part; but do ye want 
our talkin' loud, or soft — or how?" 

**0h, soft will do best in this little hall," the 
schoolmaster replied, with a long face. ** Be- 
sides it's in your style." 

**It will be," Sandy answered, as he pulled 
Father Lindsay's head aside and whispered in 
his ear. Lindsay looked relieved. They under- 
stood — and then commenced the great Zeu- 
glou-idio-co-hem-o-fisty-isty-cuss debate which 
put all duels oratorical aside, and stands un- 
rivaled in these talky times. 

Ramsey led off, with outstretched mouth and 
arms, pounding the air and making points, but 
softly — softly — not a word above a whisper — 
something in his **style"— and Father Lind- 
say's too, for, as Sandy finished, his Damascus 
blade shone forth. The keen satire, the pol- 
ished wit, the sharp retort, were his. But 
Sandy beat him off with stroke on stroke, parry 
and thrust not only, but a great sweep of 
rhetoric, delivered as a claymore might have 
given it— strong, forcible, but soft — oh, yes, 
in whispers as they wanted it. All those who 
looked in Sandy's face, and caught his swivel 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 149 

eye, knew now that he was in his element and 
he had found his ** style" and carried out his 
joke. 

Roar followed roar, for points were made in 
comic pantomimic style and all were under- 
stood. 

**Good! Good!" the people cried. **Hurrah 
for Lindsay!" "Sandy's right!" **Hurrah! 
Hurrah!" and thus encouraged each renewed 
his gestures and his stamping till the building 
shook, and then the coup! The grand climax. 
A peroration in which both spoke at once! 
**Liar!" they seemed to say, and **Double 
slave !" And then they clinched and each one's 
partisans bore off the double champions, alike 
triumphant and alike approved — the only time 
In any argument that both sides won. 

Hilarity was at its height. The people and 
the two participants— schoolmaster, minister 
and all joined in the cry, **Hurrah!" ^'Father 
Ramsey!" **Sandy Lindsay!" **Champions!" 
**Hurrah!" 

In the excitement Sandy went outside to cool, 
and Deacon Drawback came inside and took his 
place. So Sandy won applause, and much to 
his disgust, he lost his seat. 

Five minutes passed before good order was 
restored — then Donald Stuart rose — and as he 



150 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

did so all was still as death-— and as he took the 
writing in his hands, all was attention and re- 
spect, each eye was turned toward him and 
each ear attuned to listen to his friendly words. 
Amid a breathless silence he began : 

To the poor — my brothers and my sisters in 
adversity — those who cannot favor, will not 
flatter me — I devote this strange and true 
romance of 

BONNIE DOON. 



The Drama of 

The Life and Loves of 

Robert Burns. 



PART FIRST. 



"Where-by the winding Ayr we met 
To live one day of parting love." 

The time one hundred years ago; the country 
Scotland, and the scene the road that leads 
from Doon to Ayr. 

Of all who passed upon that road, or wan- 
dered up and down the shady paths which bor- 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 151 

ered it— who now shall tell? Who can go back 
to that far distant time — journeying in memory 
through the long forgotten years — ^and sit down 
by that highway, now so famed, and see the 
people of the past go by? The little children 
with dust-covered feet; poor boys and girls 
unconscious of their sorrows in their play ; the 
lovers happy and forgetful of the world ; the 
careless husband and the anxious wife; the 
widow and the stranger and their cares; the 
father and the mother worn and old— who shall 
behold their faces or their forms again or hear 
their happy words, or listen to their woes, or 
catch the distant echo of their songs of love? 
Not one. No book preserves their history ; no 
record tells their deeds or marks their fate. 
One matchless book of song — written by him 
the hero of the scene — recalls their names— but 
further all is still. Wish as we may, we look 
and listen, but in vain. All who lived then are 
silent now. All who live now speak only of a 
past they never knew. 

But there's a Pilgrim who has wandered 
far and made his journey through the land of 
dreams. Invited by your welcome, he comes 
in, and takes his wallet off and hangs it up — 
and tells a story as a stranger might who sits 
beside your fire — and, as he speaks, his staff 



152 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

is turned to a magician's wand, and by a 
single touch all things are changed. 

Behold ! We are no longer on our well known 
hills; but this is Scotland and we stand upon 
her soil. 

These blossoms bloom upon the banks of Ayr, 
and in these branches lint-whites sing — and 
yonder, commg up the road, appears the wife 
who all day long has nursed '*her wrath to keep 
it warm" — and so she speaks, and others come 
and go— revealing all the secrets of their lives 
and telling us their loves and sorrows in this 
DRAMA OF DEPAKTED DAYS. 



SCENE 1. 

'*Aweel! Aweel!" says Katy O'Shanter, 
as she stands looking toward the town, **not 
hame the live lang day— an' yet na sign ! 0, 
Tarn O'Shanter ! Tam O'Shanter. It's weel yer 
awa'. The gudewife canna haud her tongue 
forever, an' when ye do come, my words will 
flow like a stream doun the side o' *Ben 
Lomond.' " 
She looks again, shading the sun from her 

eyes. 

•* What's this comin' doun the road? A bogle 
or a ghaist? Or Beelzebub in black? Eh ! it's 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 153 

Haley Willie— wi' bis long legs and longer face 
and groanin', heepeereetical voice. He's the^ 
ane mon in a' Scotland who minds everybody's 
business but his ain. He'll no learn mine." 

She retires, as Holey Willie appears. He 
stands and clasps his hands and rolls his eyes 
and heaves a sigh: 

**A-ah! It's ma dooty. These lang Scots 
miles may mak me tired; but what's a' that to 
Willie? All the afternoon I've wandered on 
the Ayr to spy on Kobert Burns. This must be 
near the trysting-place where he meets Mary 
Campbell. My dooty is to save her frae his 
arms, an' maybe for ma ain. Let ithers 
preach; I'll proctice. I'm the schoolmaster to 
counsel the erring. I'm the shepherd who 
gathers the stray— (he sees Katy)— Ah! ane 
o' the lombs o' th' flock. I must encompass 
her in ma arms and carry her back to the fold. 
Gude woman, I gie ye good e'en." 

** Ye do?" says Katy with contempt. ** Weel, 
then, I gie it back to ye, gude man. I accept 
naething frae strangers." 

**But my counsel is free." 

•*It'slikeyerser. Good e'en." (She starts.) 

**Stay," cries Willie, '*ye're alane?" 

**I am, an' I wish to remain alone." 

''Ye'reherebyyersel'?" 



154 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**0 yes, be sure o' that or ye'd no be spe#rin' 
the question." 

•*But ye'll be wantin' protection." 

'*I would na' were it not for ye." 

**I'll protect ye. It is ma dooty." 

** Forget yer duty, then." 

"It's naething but a woman, like yerseP, 
could make me." 

**I wonder. Weel-a-well. Ye could forget it 
then?" 

'*The deil is in a woman's eyes to drag the 
best man down." 

"Aye — mon — an' what a little thing can make 
a saint a sinner." 

"Nay. What is seenfu' in th' weeked is 
only natural in the gude. Listen— ye're alane. 
The husband neglects ye, and a friend 
would care for ye. What then, is a gudewife's 
dooty?" 

"Ochon ! What should a poor woman do?" 

"Aye!" 

"Tam O'Shanter is my husband an' he neg- 
lects me." 

"Aye! Aye!" 

"I am Katy, his wife, who's forgotten." 

"Aye! Aye! Aye!" 

"And ye're Willie, the gude friend who would 
comfort me?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 155 

**Aye! aye! aye! aye! *Twould be my 
dooty ! What then is yours?" 

**Th]s!" (She suddenly seizes and throws 
him to ground.) 

'*Nay!" he cries. **Haud! Hand!" 

**And this!" (Places her foot on his breast.) 
'*When the husband's awa' the gudewife will 
na' forget!" 

**Mercy! Hand! hand! For gudeness sake!" 

**This!" (Stands on him.) "When the gude 
man's gone, the honest woman takes his part 
an' her ain"— (kicks him)— ' Go!" 

"It's ma dooty!" groans Willie as he hurries 
off. 

Katy stands, in tears, and exclaims: 

"0, Tam O'Shanter! Tarn O'Shanter! Thank 
yer stars that ye're spared that much o' 
my strength. What I have wasted on him 
is that much less for you!" (She sits on 
bank.) 

"0, gudewives! gudewives! Men may try 
us; but, an' we want to stand, we need na' 
fall." (Kises.) "But I could murn for the 
sorrow o' it and sing dool for mysel' an' my 
'bletherin, blusterin', drunken Tam! W^eel-a- 
weel! Will-a-wa'! Ochon! Ochon! ochon-a- 
rie!" (Sits weeping.) 

Tam is heard singing on the road ; 



156 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Saw ye roarin' Katy, roarin' Katy, roarin' Katyl 
Saw ye roarin' Katy, lookin' for O'Sbanter?^' 

(Very loud) 

"O, Tarn he was a ploughman gude 
As ever sprang f rae Highland sod ; 
But to the gudewife by his side, 
A loon was Tam 0*Shanter! 

**Saw ye roarin' Katy, roarin' Katy, roarin' Katy! 
Saw ye roarin' Katy^ lookin' for O'Shanter?" 

(He repeats in drunken style.) 

(Katy speaks.) 

**It's himself, as fou' as the reever i' th' spring 
flood. I wonder he can sing when he's too fou' 
to ride. He's sae droonk he makes even the 
mare stagger." 

(Tam shouts.) *'Whoa! whoa! there, Meg! 
Whoa!" 

(Katy looks.) **I wonder what's the matter 
now?" 

(Tam shouts.) '*There' a bogle in the road! 
Heh! Hide yersel'. Ye scare the mare!" 

"Aye, mon! We'll see." (She calls.) 
**Come, Meg! Come here! Poor beast! I war- 
rant not a mouthf u' all the day !" (She pulls 
up grass.) **Here, Meg!" (Calling and cry- 
ing.) *'Gome, Meg! Come, Meg! Come!" 

Meg comes, with Tam drunk on her back — 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 157 

she runs to Katy and eats out of her hand. 
Katy speaks to her and fondles her, but does 
not notice her rider. 

**Ah, Meg! ye dear auld friend an' beastie! 
are ye comin' home the day? I'm lonesome 
wi'out ye, Meg! Ochon! Sae lonesome!" 
(Cries.) *'But ye'd na' leave me a' alane! It's 
no yer fault. Ye'd think o' those who cared 
for ye ; I know ye would , poor Meg. Ye're but a 
beast, but ye ha' heart enough for that; an' sae 
I love ye, Meg! An' sae I'll do for ye sae long 
as either live! My arms about yer neck! My 
hand to smooth yer top and words to soften 
yer sorrow ! Poor Meg, when human cattle are 
unkind, ye'll na' forget. So— we'll gae hame! 
I'll get yer supper an' a gude dry bed. Come, 
Meg, my gude, my only friend, come hame!" 

(Takes hold of bridle.) 

Tam sings while stupidly drunk : 

**Saw ye Tam O'Shanter— Tam O'Shanter?" 

Katy — unnoticing — replies : 

"I've na' seen him. Ye've na' seen yer mas- 
ter, have ye, Meg? Nay, an' ye had, ye'd nae 
stand out in rain an' cauld, tied to a post, whiles 
he sits drinkin' by the bleezin' fire! Come 
hame!" 

Tam sings loudly : 



158 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**0, Tarn, he was a ploughman gude,'* etc. 

Katy replies to Meg : 

"Once on a time he was, Meg; but this is no 
the master of your better days! That's na' the 
man was kind to ye! That's na' the gude man 
swore he lo'ed me, nay — let's gae hame — per- 
haps he's waitin' for us there — come, Meg." 

'* Whoa!" cries Tam, **ye lanky loon! How 
can I hand my seat? I'll fa'." (Sings.) 

*'Sae fou' was Tarn O'Shanter!^' 

**Aye," says Katy. *'Meg, what's that load 
on yer tired back? E'en drop it off and let it 
lie awhile an' maybe it can learn to walk. I 
walked the ways here— *it can walk it hame." 
(She drops Tam off.) **Come, Meg, I know ye 
feel easier now." (Leads her to bank and gets 
on.) *'Gee up, my bonnie Meg, the gudeman's 
waitin' for us hame!''' (She rides off on Meg.) 

Tam sits on ground in drunken stupor and 
shouts after her: 

•* Ye'll wait till I come ! A' right ! A' right ! 

Put the mare in my bed an' curry me off! 

Whee! Gie me some oats an' let me sleep i' th' 

barn ! When Katy 's hame the house is too fou' !" 

(Sings) 

"An' sae is Tam O'Shanter!" 

(Falls over). 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 169 

Holey Willie returns and looks after Katy and 
Meg. 

** Ah, Heaven be praised! The auld mare's 
bearin' her awa'. Weel, let her gang. She's a 
sour grape to Willie. What's this she's 
drapped? Tam, as I live, an' drunk as usual. 
My duty is to raise the fa'en ; but sin' I could 
na' conquer the wife, I hate to carry the hus- 
band! Ah, weel! It's ma poonishment. I'll 
bear ma load. Get up, ye sawney ! 

** What's there?" says Tam. "Eh! What's 
that? A bogle or a deil?" 

**Neither, but ye'll see onything." 

**Naething like you! Eh! now I see; ye're 
my mare, Meg. Whoa! ye auld tail-swetchen 
deevil, ye— wheal" 

**Ye're a donkey," says Willie, in dis- 
gust. 

**Hic— " says Tam, **I'm vera near one^ 
whoa!" 

**Ye're a mon o' no standin'," says Willie. 

**That's reason I ride," says Tam. *'Whoa! 
ye gray grump, ye— whoa!" 

**Getup!" says Willie. 

**Up where?" says Tam. 

**Here on me back." 

** Where are yer stirrips? Whoa!" 

**0h, what a load o' sin," groans Willie. 



160 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

** Well— if I am, ye'll carry me easy! Stand 
still, ye cloutie!" 

**Get up!" says Willie, as he mounts Tarn on 
his back. **It's screepture — bear yer load !" 

**Ye're right!" says Tam,**rm Baalam! Gee! 
Gaelang!" 

He rides oflP on Willie's back. 

As they disappear, William and Gilbert Burns 
come up the path. Gilbert— assisting his 
father — speaks, as he advances. 

"Do you feel better, father?" 

**Ah, Gilbert, I don't know. Sometimes I 
think I do and then " 

**Well, father?" 

**Gilbert, it's no the Eastlin wind that chills 
my heart, nor a' the cold that blows frae High- 
land hills. It is the thought that when misfor- 
tune comes to me all my poor bairns must share 
it." 

'■'Have we not always done so? And think 
you we should sorrow now, except, dear father, 
it should be for you?" 

**Thanks, Gilbert. Oh, my boys! my boys! 
your sisters and my wife! How patient and 
how faithful ye've all been to me." 

"No, father, we've never half repaid the love 
and care you've given us." 

"I'll not hear it. Since Robin was a boy in 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 161 

Ayr— half-clothed, half-fed, as well we know, 
he's alway s done the labors of a man. Summers 
and winters, worked all day to keep us all to- 
gether! And now he's come to be a man, with 
naething to reward, and only you to help him ; 
for, God knows, when I die I leave you no in- 
heritance!" 

**The best, dear father— a brave example and 
an honest name." 

*'Ah, well, I've done the best I might in all 
our poor surroundings— and having done my 
all, it may be better I should go — there'll be 
one care the less — one less to worry you!" 

**Father, I will not hear you say it." 

**Ah, well, my son, I know that Robin feels 
restraint. His temper's like to mine— some- 
times despairing, sometimes all astray. I see 
it. Others tell me. Murdock, his friend and 
tutor, knows his mind. He often says he'll go 
away from Scotland and from endless toil — from 
counsels, cares and miseries, and I don't blame 
him — no ! my God ! I do not blame him !" 

** Father, you do no justice to his heart. He 
loves you — loves us all, and for our dear auld 
Scotland, he had rather die a peasant on her 
hills than live a prince elsewhere." 

** Ah ! ah ! If I could know all this, as you do. 
Brothers have secrets which no father ever 



162 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

knows. It tears my heart to think it, yet I 
feel he would be leaving ns!" 

**Father, look there!" (He points down the 
path.) **There is your answer— there the man 
and there the lass that binds him." 

"Robert— and Mary Campbell!" 

"Does that not tell ye all? Worlds could not 
tear him from this place while she is here! 
Come. The man whose heart is hallowed by a 
woman's love can never harm his kindred." 

They disappear. Willie returns and speaks 
with mock humility : 

**I ha' done ma dooty! I've cast down ma 
load o' sin ! An' I feel the relief o' the blessed ! 
Brither O'Shanter is lyin' by the roadside amang 
the birches he so reechly desarves. A-weel! 
I'm repaid for the humeeleation, for, on bearin' 
awa' ane ineequity I came upon anither — Mr. 
Robert Burns wi' his sinfu' arms around the 
slender waist o' Mary Campbell! Ah, weel! 
What we hunt for in vain, we stumble over un- 
awares. I'll do ma dooty! The sinfu' crea- 
tures maun be parted ! They're standin' on the 
pracepece of love ! It's ma dooty to gae below 
an' catch the ane who falls!" 

A voice is heard down the road and a bonnie 
lassie— Madge McGowan— appears, with a stick 
and bundle, and a plaid on her arm. She walks 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 163 

along singing carelessly until she encounters 
Willie:— 

*' I'm bonnie McGowan 
Frae Greenock I came 
To the bills an' the dales 
Where the sweet birds are singing 



*'0-0!"-(she sees Willie)-'* Shade o' ma 
mither ! Wow ! It's a men ! 8tan' back ! stan' 
back! Dinna ye come near me! I'm a' the 
way frae Greenock an' I ha' na' seen a mon sin' 
yesterday!" 

**Then ye are ripe for the seckle," says Willie. 
'* Whither does the fair lambkin wander?" 

**Ah— sir — I now see ye're na' sae young nor 
sae attractive as 1 thought, an' I can trust ye!" 

"Ye can. I'm the bell-wether o' th' flock! 
What I ower-loup the ithers crawl under!" 

**Then, sin' ye give me leave to speak to a 
mon by the wayside " 

**A-weel! If ye thenk it's too public we 
can just gae further in the wood." 

**0h, weel! ye can gae as far in the wood as 
ye will; but Madge McGowan sees mair attrac- 
tion in the dirt in the road !" 

** Ah— weel! Weel, if ye prefer the broad road 
that leads to destruction to the narrow ane that 
leads elsewhere wi' me— I'll not stay ye— as 



164 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

yer business may be urgent, and Greenock will 
be lonesome till ye get back!" 

**Not at a' ! The boys were tighten aboot me 
when I left, an' they'll keep it up till my 
return." 

*'I dinna thenk I'll gae to Greenock," says 
Willie; **when do ye gae back?" 

**The Soonday after Saturday. Is yon the 
loaning to the Castle o Montgomery?" 

** Ane end o' th' path gaes that way— the ither 
awa'. An ye come wi' me ye'll be on the 
right road." 

*'Dinna fash yersel'. I dinna care for it." 

**But it's ma dooty, an' I must." 

**Then tell me, does Mary Campbell o' the 
West Highlands live there still?" 

**Weel, just at present she's engaged else- 
where!" 

"An' where then can I see her?" 

Willie takes her hand and speaks mysteri- 
ously : 

*'Hush! never disturb a cooin' dove! Let me 
lead ye into new pastures." 

**Ah, bah!" says Madge. *' Lang-shanks, I'm 
no sheep!" 

**Na— then," says Willie, putting his arms 
around her, '*yer just a female lamb!" 

"But no for you !" (She tears herself away.) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 166 

**rm Madge McGowan, a free girl frae Greenock, 
and I dinna want any auld bell-wether bleat- 
in' around me! B-a-a-a!" 

She goes. Willie looks after her and ex- 
claims: 

**Ba-a-a! Ye may be, ma belle, ivhether ye 
will or noo! Ah ! I maun strive to turn her on 
the right path! An' if I do, Til tether her! 
But first I'll turn the fiock o' gossips on this 
fertile field an' let them graze upon one scondal 
while it's green! This Master Burns has scur- 
relized me in his sotarical sangs — I'll scondalize 
him in his stolen love! I'll skaur the kintra 
round but I'll bring them a' to catch this Master 
Robin cooin' wi' his mate! Ha! ha! I'll do ma 
dooty noo!" 

He rubs his hands and steals out of sight. 
After a pause a love tune is heard — and Robert 
Burns and Mary Campbell appear — coming down 
the path. They advance slowly, his arm 
around her as they walk— Mary speaks: 

** Robert, it is growing late, and I must leave 
you now." 

'*Mary," says Robert as he clasps her to his 
heart, '*I cannot speak the word that parts us 
even for an hour. Oh, say you will not go. 
Come, let us talk all night as we have done all 
day!" 



166 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

They sit on bank, under blossoming haw tree. 

**Tell me again you love me, Mary!" 

**rve said it over half an hundred times," 
says Mary, as she smiles and looks into his face. 

*'Well, then," says Robert, **let the echoes 
shout it back a thousand more, and Ayr repeat 
it, talking as it goes ! I'd never tire to hear ifc !" 

**Then, Robert Burns, I love you!" 

"And Mary Campbell, this is all my answer," 
says Robert, as he presses his lips to hers. 
"For well ye know my heart is yours beyond 
the poverty or wealth of words to speak!" 

"I know without the asking, Robert! and if 
you ask me why I love you so, it's only — just 
— because — I love you!" 

"Mary, there is no other reason half so good. 
/ love you. Only that — those three words turn 
the world! 

" Tho* I Vv^ere doomed to wander on 
Beyond the sea, beyond the Sun, 

Till my last weary sand was run — 
Till then—and then I love thee!" 

He clasps her passionately. She modestly 
releases herself, and starts to go. 
"Robert, it is growing late." 
He stays her — and still holds her hand. 
"I know — I know; but still I love to linger 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 167 

with you here, as in the days when first we met. 
Ah, Mary, that sweet time when first we thought 
of love, and when I took a briar or a thistle 
sting from out your girlish hand and dared not 
look into your wondering eyes!" 

*'ril ne'er forget," she answers, lost in 
r every. 

**Tell me, dear Mary, you'll not go." 

**I must," she answers sadly, *'for your sake 
and for my own." 

"No — no! Not leave me now, when, maybe, 
you'll be going far away — to your old Highland 
home." 

*'0h, Robert, don't remind me we must part!" 

**Mary!"he says in deep surprise; but she 
continues in a troubled voice and speaks through 
many tears. 

**It had been easier had I gone before. I 
should have gone three days ago — for my father 
and my friends must see me and know all 
before I am your wife, dear Robin; and 
then I only go that we may sooner be the 
happier." 

**Mary!" 

**But when I'm gone—then, Robert, you'll 
forget me!" 

**No, Mary, no. A man may sometimes in 
his life forget all else — his first love never ! It 



168 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

lingers in his heart till the last throb and 
ceases only when his eyes are closed in 
death!" 

**Kobert," she replies, *'I love you very 
dearly; but never selfishly. It is your happi- 
ness more than mine I think of, and if I ever 
found you could be happier without me, I'd go 
away forever!" 

**Mary, you would not — nay, you could not do 
so. Go where you will you cannot leave me! 
And come to me what may — what other love or 
other sorrows — my Highland Mary ever will be 
with me!" 

**Robert!" she cries, embracing him. 

*'Yes, Mary, for I feel, let fate do what it 
may, our fortunes and our lives will be insepa- 
rably linked together, and love will be the theme 
where'er oar names are spoken!" 

''I've sometimes thought so, too," she says — 
and then continues, marked and solemnly, as 
she looks her lover in the face: **I dreamed one 
night you were a great man, Robert — famous 
around the world— and yet your heart was then 
as now — you called me Mary still!" 

*'Wife of my heart!" he answers, clasping 
her. '*Mary, forever mine! What then?" 

**I am afraid to tell— I thought— I thought I 
never could be yours, but I could help to make 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 169 

you great! And that alone was happiness to 
me." 

**Mary, my better angel! All your love is 
like an inspiration! I never may be much in 
this great world, but of one thing I am certain 
— no man is ever poor who has an honest 
woman's love!" 

*'Be sure you have that always," Mary says, 
^'whether I am here or far awa'. Then rest 
content till I return — and should I never 
come—" 

*'Ye'll be my Mary still! Some think a spirit 
dwells in every star— and of this hope ye canna' 
altogether rob me — you will he mine in Heai-ien! " 

*'Yes, Kobert, yes — and more — I will be faith- 
ful until death!" 

Both seem greatly impressed, and Kobert, who 
has removed his cap, speaks with much feeling 
and solemnity. 

"Dear Mary! As you promise me, 1 pledge 
my word to you, and on this sacred book you 
gave me, here we plight our troth; so swear 
with me — to live for, to love one another until 
death do us part!" 

These words they speak together, and this 
done, they look into each other's eyes and read 
there what no words need tell. They rush into 
each other's arms and utter one another's names. 



170 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Kobert!" 

"Mary!" 

In this position Madge encounters them—and 
starts back in an innocent surprise. 

**0h— ah! yer pardon!" she exclaims, **but 
ye're sae mexed up, I dinna ken ane frae the 
itherJ Which of ye's Mary Campbell?" 

At the sound of Madge's friendly voice Mary 
starts. 

''Why! Madge McGowan!" 

"Aye!" says Madge. '*A' th' way frae 
Greenock— who's the Jo?" (Points to Kobert.) 
"My best friend, Robert Burns," says Mary, 
introducing him. 

"An' your friend a' the same!" says Robert, 
as he takes Madge kindly by the hand. 

"How queek he is acquaint!" says knowing 
Madge, with an arch look. "He ought to live 
in Greenock. There's business for him there!" 

"But, dear Madge, tell me," Mary says, 
"what brought ye?" 

"I brought mysel'. Was goin' to the house; 
but, lookin' for the gate, looked back and saw 
ye here. I've come for ye." 

"For me?" 

"For Mary?" asks Robert, in surprise. 

Madge answers Mary in a breath : 

"Yer uncle's dead; your brither's sick; 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 171 

faither's awa' an' mither lonely— want ye to 
come home!" 

**I heard a rumor of it," answers Mary, **near 
a week ago and should have gone, either to 
Campbellton or to Dunoon." 

**I see," says Madge, as she looks at Robert 
knowingly, **I see what kept ye back. If Yd a 
Jo like that Vd be in Greenock eight days 
every week." 

**We'll go to-morrow morning," says Mary 
sadly. **Robert, you will not blame me now?" 

**God speed ye!" Robert answers. **But 
come back; and now the gloamin's near — Fll 
see ye to the yett, an' you, her friend, the 
same." 

**Na, na!" says bonnie Madge, **ye'll gang 
yer waus alane. 1 dinna thenk yer talk would 
eenterest me, an' it might enterfere wi' ye! 
I've been thot way mysel'." 

**Then follow us," says Robert, as he and 
Mary laughing, turn to go — **not our example 
—follow us! Mary, come!" 

And as they go away in lover fashion, arm 
in arm, Madge stands and looks — a sort of envy 
in her eyes. 

**Aye, I'll come too," she says — **but out o' 
sight, and out o' hearin', mind. I'm only a 
poor innocent girl frae Greenock, an' I dinna 



172 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

wish to blush when I'm awa' frae hame. Ah, 
weel! if Mary should, by ony acceedent, be un- 
able to gae, maybe he could gae in her place. 
I'm sure I'd take good care o' him an' return 
him safe after he'd seen the sights o' the town. 
But what a flock o' bonnie lasses ha' we here? 
These are some more o' his best friends— nay, 
but the bell-wether's after them— aha! He sets 
them on to Mary's lover— oho! this is an am- 
bush! Weel, I'll no' see that young mon 
harmed if Madge can cercumvent it! Greenock, 
you've taught me mony trecks, teach me ane 
noo!" (Saying which she hides among the 
bushes by the road. No sooner is she con- 
cealed than a lot of Scotch lasses come down 
the path and peer about the place.) 

**There's na ane here," says Nannie. 

**Na sign o' Robin, let alane a woman," says 
fair Chloris. 

**Naething but tracks in lover's lane." 

'*Then Willie must ha' fooled us!" 

•«jgay — nay, it's real," says Clarinda, looking 
in the road. **Here are the marks o' hob-nailed 
shoon " 

"An' here a milkmaid's patten," Nannie 
says — examining the marks. 

**Right!" says Clarinda. '*lt's Rob an' Mary 
Campbell!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 173 

**Haud!"says Sylvie, **here's anither. The 
footgear o' a city girl!" 

**That's me!" says Madge, as she peeps slyly 
from her ambush by the road. 

**Gude Lord!" says Nannie, highly shocked. 
**He's after every girl in Scotland!" 

**He's written to me!" Clarinda says, produc- 
ing proof. 

** Verses to me !" says Chloris— showing them. 

**Love-talk to me!" says Nannie. 

**To you ! He ! Love to you?" Clarinda asks. 

**What! my Jo write to you?" cries Chloris. 

**Ye see — I ha' the ca' o' you," says Nannie 
proudly. 

**0h! ha' ye?" Sylvie says. **Weel— take 
that!" 

**An' that! An' that! an' that!" shout all the 
three — and start to fight — while Nannie, taunt- 
ing, sings: 

" What's a' the steer, kimraer? 
What's a' the steer?" 

and Chloris sings in answer: 



" Robin is fra hame, lass, 
An' still he is na' here!' 



To which her rival readily rejoins: 



174 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

" Then lace yer bodice blue, 
An* trim yer cap anew; 
But Kobin, when ye find him, 
Is na' the ane for you !" 

And then, together, tauntingly: 

** What's a' the steer, kimmer — what's a' the steer? 
Robin is frae hame, lass, an' still he is na' here! 

In vain yer bodice blue; 
You may set your cap anew ; 
For Robin, when ye find him, 
Is na' the ane for you !" 

Tam O'Shanter, roused by the singing, stag- 
gers in among the girls and joins in drunken 
style, with his own tune and words: 

** Saw ye gudewife Katy, 
Mother Katy — scoldin' Katy? 
Saw ye my wife Katy, ridin' on auld Maggie?" 

At sight of him all the girls exclaim : 

•*It'sTam O'Shanter!" 

And as well as drunkenness will allow, he an- 
swers: 

**Hic! aye! An' Tam O'Shanter weeshes to 
enf orm ye— hie ! that he canna' sleep in sic a 
squeelin* noise! Hie! Eh, I thought it was 
my wife come back, an' it sobered me up a bit 
—wow!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 175 

**An' were ye here then?" question the girls. 

**What then? Where then? Hie! Nay! I 
was there then!" (Points up the road.) 

"But have ye seen 'em?" the girls inquire. 

**Ha' I seen 'em? Yes, an' had 'em often. 
Hie ! an' sae has souter Jonny , too. Hie ! Don'i 
talk about 'em, or I'll see 'em crawl — hie!" 

"Eh," say the girls, "they're hidin' in the 
bushes then!" 

"Thedeil they are!" says Tarn. "Tak' 'em 
off! Tak' 'em off!" 

"Oh, we know," says Nannie, "we saw their 
tracks m the road." 

"Ye did?" says Tam, "then don't ye let 'em 
come near me! Keep 'em awa'! Keep 'em 
awa' !" (He hides behind the girls.) 

"But let 'em gang their gates," says Chloris. 
"We wouldn't be in their shoes •" 

"Don't!" cries Tam. "Dom but they'll be in 
my boots!" 

"Tell us about 'em," the girls demand as 
they gather about him. 

"An' I do I'm dommed!" says Tam, as he 
stamps about in the road. "Let's change the 
soobject! Hie! where's Meg?" 

"Your mare? We haven't seen her." 

"Well, then," says Tam, "I know a woman 



176 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

has, an' straddled her, an' rode her off, an' left 

me here just like a gowk!" 
•*To walk! eh, Tarn? Ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
**To walk? Nay, nay, I rode the donkey." 
•*The donkey!" 

'*Yes, Haley Willie! till he threw me off!" 
**0h! ho! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
**Aye, ye may laugh, girls; but it was na 

laughin' matter for him to carry me — nor for 

me, when he let me fa'. Look here — I paid my 

siller for a gude drunk, an' now it's a' knocked 

out o' me! But I'm avenged!" 
**How so?" 
**Dinna ye see? I was left here for drunk an' 

I'm sober! I was left here to walk, an' I ride! 

I was left here, by ane woman, to be alane, an' 

I'm surrounded by a dizzen o' 'em!" (He sings 

in great glee:) 

*' Oh, Tam he was a ploughman gude 
As ever spraog frae Highland sod,'* etc. 

As he sings all the girls encircle him, and 
hand in hand, sing and dance around him: 

**Saw ye Tam O'Shanter? Tam O'Shanter! 
Saw ye Tam O'Shanter, lookin' for his Maggie?'* 

*'0h!" says Tam, '*but Vm too sober! It's 
ma poonishment! A-weel! If I maun walk, 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 177 

ril dance, too! I maun soofer for ma crimes! 

But eh! to be sae lanely!" (He leers at the 

girls.) **It's a dreadfu' contreetion! It makes 

me repent o' ever bein' married!" 
**Weel, now, Tam," says Nannie, **now that 

ye can understand " 

'*Hic! aye!" (He tickles her.) 

**Tell us what we want to know." 

**Ah!" says Tam, "it's muckle a woman 

wants to know an' it's little she don't!'' 
**But tell us, Tam," they all exclaim. 
**Eh! what? ye sousie lasses. Were ye ever 

married?" 
**Never." 

**There's no a married ane amang ye?" 
**Nay," they answer, *'but there should be." 
*'Ye're right," cries Tam, **come to me arms! 

Eh ! but it's dreedfu' to be sae lonely ! Come 

to my arms again!" 
**Nay," persists Nannie, **but tell us. Did 

ye na see Robin an' Mary Campbell here 

about?" 
**0-o-h! He's the ane ye're speerin' for? 

Oh, aye! Tam, ye can tak' a drap!" 
**Tell us," says Chloris, '*where they are." 
**Well, then, they're doon there by the path 

awaitin' by yon haw-tree!" 



178 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

''They are?" exclaim the girls in great de- 
light. "Come on!" 

"Stop!" cries Tam, as he stands in the path 
and waves them back, "ye'llno disturb them!" 

"Why?" 

"I'll tell ye. There, by the road, where 
Willie let me fa', 'twas Robin stooped to pick me 
up, an' Mary Campbell helped him! Now 
Tam O'Shanter stands their friend 'gainst a' the 
cryo' Scotland!" 

"Gude! gude!" cries Chloris. "Tam, we like 
ye all the better for it!" 

"Aye! aye!" they all exclaim. "Tarn's 
right! We like him for fair play !" 

"Ye do? Then, bonnie lasses, I am yours as 
well!" (Calls down the road:) "Meg, gae on 
hame, an' tak' the auld woman wi' ye. I'll 
bear ma poonishment alane!" 

"But stay," says Nannie, "there's Haley 
Willie back again!" 

"Aye!" says Tam, "an' as fu' o' the auld 
deil as I was fou' o' barley corn!" — pointing out 
Willie. "There's the oreegenal frae the garden 
o' Eden. Awhile ago I had 'em in me boots, 
now ane o' them's in me eye. Gee! If I only 
had me feddle here I'd make him dance! Bui 
whist! Let's catch the deil at his ane gaiate." 
(He whistles and beckons.) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 179 

**Hey! Robin--hey! Come here!" (He hides 
with the girls, among the trees, as Willie re- 
appears and looks after them.) 

''It's Tarn ! The lasses will lead him a chase. 
If they don't sober him naething will! I've 
stirred them up all round!" 

(Madge comes out and stands on bank watch- 
ing.) 

*'The giglets hae gotten the gillie, an' auld 
lang-shanks is mutton for me. This is the game 
the Greenock girl brings doun when she veesets 
thekintra!" 

(She sits on the bank and pretends to cry, 
''Boo-oo-oo-ooh!") 

''Eh!" says Willie, "the lomb! she's back in 
the fold. They never stray far alane. So, the 
lambkin's back m the right road again?" 

"lorn! lom! 0, maister shepherd, tell me 
where'll I find ma mither?" 

" Yer mither ! Ah, I dinna ken ; but would no 
the auld buck that wears the bell, do juist as 
weel?" 

"Ah— weel!" she sighs, "1 thenk ye would. 
I'm calling to ye— ba— a— h!" 

"Come to ma arms!" says Willie in delight, 
as he sits down beside her. "If ma first dooty 
to look after the weaklins o' the flock." (Em- 
braces her.) 



180 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**0h— baah!" cries the lamb. 

"Weel— bah!" says Willie, soothingly, *' but 
dinna be afraid. I'll be a mither to ye!" 

'*An' is that all?" 

**A faither an' a mither." 

**Naething else?" 

•*Aye! a' the bell-wethers i' the flock! Ba! 
Baa! Baah!" 

(At this Tarn and all of the girls come out of 
the wood and surround them — all crying:) 

•*Ba— ah! Ba! baah!" Then all go round 
them singing: 

"Saw ye Haley Willie— Haley Willie— Haley Willie? 
Saw ye shepherd Willie doin' o' bis duty? " 

(All laugh and point at Willie, who starts up 
indignantly. Madge laughs.) 

**It's a lie!" cries Willie. '*It's no me! I'm 
not myself! I'm anither mon!" 

**Aye! yer waur nor ye thenk," says Tam, 
**but ye're Ill-willie a' th' same!" 

** An' ye?" — ask the girls of Madge. 

**Me?" replies the innocent Madge, "I'm just 
a playfu' lettle lomb! I set the trop an' lured 
him wi' a baah!" 

(Girls all laugh and point at Willie, and cry :) 

"Baah!!!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 181 

**The artfu' hizzie!" cries Willie furiously. 
'*It was a' her faut. The trap I set for Eobert 
Burns " 

**Ye got yerself, ye deevil ye!" says Tam. 

**But he shall pay for aM" says Willie. **See 
here's his scondal upon me !" (He gives written 
paper to Tam and takes others from the girls.) 

**An' here— an' here. There's not a lass but 
has some seenfu' love-sang frae him. Here, 
read you!'' He hands them to Father and 
Gilbert Burns, who now appear. 

*'His faither! Weel, I'm glad ye ken!" 

**Thank God, I do," says the old man proudly. 
**I kon the guid o' Kobert Burns — an' for the ill 
that's true, I warrant there is naught sae bad 
his father canna hear it." 

**Kead for yersel' !" says Willie scornfully. 

**I will," says Father Burns, with emphasis, 
'*and his own words shall answer for him to the 
world." 

** Aye, judge him by them, father!" Gilbert 
says; *'if what he's written's to condemn, then 
what he's written shall uphold him, too." 

**That's justice," says his father, '*and so it 
now shall be. But why this stir? Willie, why 
are you here?" 

(Tam explains:) 

**We found him kinttlin' wi' this Greenock 



182 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

lass— billin' an' baain'— heads an' thraws the- 
gither— bah! ye auld bletherin' Beelzebub!" 

**Nay, Maister," says Madge quietly. *'Vm 
but a lamb. The auld bell-wether lured me!" 

*'Na doubt! Na doubt!" says Father Burns, 
as he looks over the writings Willie gave him. 

(Two little boys lead an old ewe down the 
path. She is tied by a string and has about her 
neck a flowery wreath.) 

*'More eenocence!" says Madge. **Don't 
blame me. Here's anither stray. Aye, callans, 
it's a braw bet of a sheep." 

"She's lookin' for the maister," says the boy. 

**Just like the ithers," Tarn suggests. 

**An' what's it's name?" asks Madge. 

**It's Robin's pet yowe, *Mallie.' " 

*'Mallie! A female!" Madge exclaims, as she 
takes her by the string. **Come yer waus, 
Mallie! I dinna ken muckle aboot ye, Mallie, 
but, an' ye've ony respect for yer mither, gie 
the bell-wether a wide berth." (She leads 
Mallie away, looking back at Willie, as she goes.) 

**And now speak you!'' says Father Burns to 
the assembled girls. *'Why are you lasses 
here?" 

(They are silent.) 

*'Aha!" says Willie, as he rubs his hands. 
"They'll na answer; but I will! Sin ye put ane 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 183 

on me, I put a' three on Robert Burns! now let 
him answer it who can!" 

*'ril answer for them all!" says Robert man- 
fully, as he appears in the centre of the group. 
All exclaim : 

^'Robert!" 

(Madge rushes to his side.) 

**Ah, my only frien' amang them!" 

*'Eh!" cries Willie with delight, ** even her! 
Guid ! An' when he onswers for 'em a', let this 
young hizzie answer too!" 

**Stop!" cries Robert interposing, **not a word 
against this lassie here, or I'll na answer for 
myself!" 

**You would protect her then?" the girls de- 
mand. 

*Trotect her! Aye!" Robert answers, **as I 
would you, or you, or any other woman!" 

**Robert!" his father asks, *'who is the lass?" 

'* Until a half an hour ago I never saw her," 
Robert answers with respect. 

**A stranger here?" 

**A friend of Mary Campbell, and that name 
makes her sacred!" 

"But still— alone " 

*' Therefore has need of friendship most! 
When a woman is upright, give her your love ! 
When shie's downright, give her your hand ! 



184 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

When she's fallen, your pity and your help! 
And when a stranger, homeless and alone, no 
matter what she may be, give her protection 
and defence!" 

**Gude! gude!" is heard on every side. 

'*Guid!" cries Tarn, *'dom but it's mair than 
guid! Scotland forever! Come oot in the road, 
auld Beelzebub, an' I'll wallop th' ground wi' 
ye!" 

'*But stay !" says Father Burns, ** what answer 
ye to these?" — ^showing the verses to Robert. 

**Nothing, father. What a man speaks he 
may deny, but what he puts on paper speaks 
against or for him for all time. I stand by what 
is written— or by what's written fall!" 

*'Robert," says his father sadly, **these are 
the love songs of an idle boy. They bring you 
but discredit and disgrace!" 

**Well, then to me let these dishonors come; 
but spare you, father, and the ones I love each 
word of mortal harm." 

(Burns bows; goes up to Mallie, and then re- 
tires. Madge follows him.) 

**A— ha!" says Willie. 

'*Ah— baa!" says Tam. 

(Gilbert goes to his father and feelingly ex- 
claims:) 

** Father, for fifteen long, hard-working years 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 185 

my brother's never had an idle day, and for the 
writings which discredit him and bring him but 
disgrace here's something from his last. It's 
called 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.' He read 
it to me Sunday when we took our walk." 
(Gilbert takes the verses from his pocket and 
gives them to his father.) **Read these, aud if 
there's idle love in them, 'tis of a kind that 
blesses every home; that graces every man and 
woman in the land and gathers honors all 
around the world!" 

(Robert appears, leading Mary Campbell for- 
ward—followed by Madge with Mallie. He 
passes Mary to his father and then turns sadly 
away. All stand in great respect. Father 
Burns addresses her solemnly:) 

**Mary Campbell, tho' you have faith in 
Robert Burns, trust not to what he says of love, 
for such things men sometimes deny; hut lohat 
he puts on paper proves him. Read" — (giving 
her a small page of MS.) 

(Mary stands in the center of the group, and 
taking the paper reads with great feeling:) 



Oh, happy love, where love like this is found ; 

Oh, heartfelt rapture — bliss be5'ond compare; 
I've waodered much this weary mortal round 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 



186 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

If Heaven a draught of heavenlj' pleasure share- 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

'Tis when the youthful, loving, modest pair, 
In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, 

Beneath the milk white thorn that scents the even- 
ing gale. 

(She goes to Robert and puts her head on his 
breast, as they sit on bank under the tree. 
Father Burns comes forward and reads im- 
pressively:) 

" Then homeward all take off their several way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest; 
The parent pair their secret homage pay. 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request 

That He who stills the ravens' clamorous nest, 
And makes the lily fair, in flowery pride, 

Would, in the way His wisd®m sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide; 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside!*' 

(He goes to Gilbert, turning aside to conceal 
his emotion. Robert advances and stands un- 
covered in the center of the throng, and, with 
great feeling and spirit, recites from memory:) 

" Oh, Scotia! My dear, my native soil, 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blessed with health and peace and sweet content. 
And oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 187 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile, 

Then, howe'er crowns or coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while 
And stand a wall of fire around their much loved isle.'* 

(Then to the air of **Red, red rose," which at 
this hour sounds like some great inspiring bat- 
tle hymn, the populace take up the cry:) 

For Caledonia and her cause. 
Whatever our fate my be ; 
We stand thro' life a living guard, 
And for her we would die! 

(And Robert — kneeling in the centre — sings 
the second part— followed by Mary's solo in a 
high, triumphant tone:) 

Robert. — O, Scotia dear! our native land 
The freedom Wallace gave, 

Mary. — Each Scottish heart and Scottish hand 
Is sworn to shield and save! 

(Then, rising, she repeats the last two lines, in 
which all join in one grand culminating shout— 
the expression of their loyalty for native land 
and love for Robert Burns!) 

******* 

As Donald Stuart's voice died out a spirit 
took its place which would not down. The 
audience in the schoolhouse rose and cheered 



188 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

and cheered again, as if outrivaling the people 
in the tale. The strong magnetic touch had 
done its work. Men shouted — women cried. 
The minister arose and raised his hands and this 
alone brought silence. 

**No words," he said, **no words. Nothing 
can add to or can take away from what we feel. 
Thanks to our pilgrim and his magic wand. 

** *One touch of Nature makes the whole world 
kin!' And this shall be my theme to-morrow 
in the little church. Till then do not disturb 
the impression and the inspiration of this hour. 

** Good -night to all, and Heaven bless and 
guard you!" 



END PART FIRST. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 189 



PART SECOND. 

The August night had come, and not come 
calmly, as the summer nights so often do; but 
this advanced in surly mood — complaining, mut- 
tering, threatening at times, when hidden light- 
ning showed beneath a cloud or low, protesting 
voices broke upon the air. 

The day had been somewhat tempestuous and 
summer showers swept down upon the country 
here and there, with eddying gusts foretelling 
their approach, and then retired, as if retreat- 
ing on the northwest hills, where, as the night 
came on, the gathering tempest showed in force, 
foreboding a disturbing night, and elemental 
war. Upon the Highland peaks, at intervals, a 
signal showed, and in the distant Catskills low, 
rolling and continued sounds were heard, as if 
the ghostly crew were out and **lit their pipes 
and rolled their ten-pin balls" in full defiance of 
the world. Crash followed crash, resounding 
through the hills, then came the downpour from 
the clouds; but nothing in the country stops 
because it rains — going and growing are com- 
pulsions when it's wet— and the undaunted 



190 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

hearts on Scotland Hill drank in the cool damp 
air as a delicious draught, which made them 
laugh and turn their faces up to the descending 
storm and shout, **Ha! ha! come down!" 

Lanterns and wraps and heavy shoes for all 
those living near, and covered wagons for the 
distant ones— ** Come on! Who cares? *More 
rain, more rest,' may do for boys, but Nature 
works right on except when it's too dry." 

The gathering was equal to the first. The 
spirit just the same. The decorations all that 
summer and the people could afford — sun-flow- 
ers and holly-hocks and wreaths of smiling faces 
all around— a happy people for a happy time. 
Even the minister showed in his honest, loving 
face the joyousness he felt and as for Sandy 
Ramsey, Drawback, Lindsay, and the others of 
that ilk, their features were an entire show 
with side-shows all thrown in. 

Music, on this occasion, took the lead. A 
fiddle helped the organ out, although they were 
not friends and never quite agreed. The organ 
would insist on its eternal double hypocritical 
drawl, the whining, canting monotone and nasal 
twang of over-pious talk — the fiddle meanwhile 
scraping out a high pitched squeak, and then 
relapsing in a comic snoring sound which made 
the wicked laugh and pious smile. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 191 

But all the vocal parts were of the best; tlie 
Scottish songs were never better sung, save in 
the dear old land itself, and stories, readings, 
everything essayed showed that the extra time 
for preparation had been well employed. When 
it came Sandy's turn— before his name was 
called— he'd started in his speech, and talked 
right on while they announced his name — 
''Sandy Ramsey — 'Straight Path,' " 

"Of course," he said, **that's what I'm talk- 
in' about; but ef ye'd like to know about the 
crooked path, I'll tell ye that. 

*' Where I got the three scruples I also got 
drunk an' went home where I leeved, after a 
big fallo' snow; an' staggered so I made a path 
like a ram's horn a' the way from the road to 
the house, an' it stayed — the drunkard's path; 
for I made it worse each time I went over it an 
every one that kem to the house got drunk goin' 
over it, too. One day a teetotler kem to give 
me reefermation, an' as he staggered up, says 
he: * Young mon, ye're on the broad road to dee- 
struction. Turn while there's time and take 
the straight and narrow path.' I cut him short. 
*Look here,' says I, 'ye're drunk yersel'. I see 
it in yer e'e, an' I'll jest bet ye a week's board 
ye can't walk from here to the gate without 
staggerin' like a gin bottle rattlin' on a tray.' 



192 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

He bet an' lost, an' I stayed there a week at 
his expense, an' in the drunkard's room. The 
path is oot there yet, a wetness to the cruked- 
ness of dreenk. Now, Mr. Feddler, an' you, 
young mon, who keeps squeezin' yer doleful 
tunes oot o' that sick music-box— ef eether o' 
ye can play a tune ye never saw or heard, go 
on and play it— an' I an' Father Lindsay will 
sing ye a duet! It just came oot frae the West, 
an' it's somethin' aboot a watch!" 

"Music play up!" 

At this command the two musicians smiled 
and struck a prolonged chord, and the two 
operatic orators stood up, each with one hand 
behind his back and one shoved in his breast. 
In this position they tried to look unconscious, 
and they did— but their delinquent voices failed 
to arrive in time to start — and Sandy nodded for 
another chord. It came with every note in the 
gamut, but none to suit it seemed, for now 
there was another pause and this time a de- 
mand to **play !" The obliging musicians com- 
plied—running all over, up and down the scale, 
lingering on such notes as they thought would 
do— but nothing lingered in the singers' ears. 

Then Sandy laid it all to Lindsay, and giving 
him a kick, cried **sing!" which Lindsay did— 
or tried to do— but which was something like a 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 193 

shriek, and Sandy followed suit— -each on a 
different key— and neither nearer than a hun- 
dred miles of the musicians, who were going 
forte and ad lib-crescendo — ralantando — every- 
thing they could — for both were wild with 
laughter now, in which the audience joined. 

This ended the first verse amid applause so 
deafening that both the vocalists felt assured 
they had achieved success. To make sure, 
however, Sandy scowled at the musicians and 
beat the time — or what was left of it to beat. 
Then he determined to show how it should have 
been, and started the first verse again himself 
— taking Lindsay's tenor part and leaving him 
the bass. He opened up on a terrific shriek, 
and raised his head, and stood on his tiptoes ; but 
what he wanted no one ever heard him reach^ 
for Lindsay's little hoarse touch on the bass 
**brought down the house" and Sandy to his 
rescue — as he now essayed both parts — screech- 
ing out one line — growling out the next — and 
beating time— stamping and scolding — motion- 
ing how to play — and bawling ** Larboard 
Watch !" in several voices and a dozen keys — 
with a cadenza in which watches, larboards, 
musicians, and Lindsays all blended in a mass, 
the audience meanwhile screaming with delight ! 

'*Bravo! Bravo! Both!" the people cried. 



194 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"Encore !" **Encore !" But Sandy only bowed 
(his modesty forbade,) except to say: 

**Me voice was cooltevated, plowed, cross- 
plowed an' harrowed in the West— an' I can 
seeng deuetts for one, or two, or three, or any 
number — ef I ony have the key! " 

At this all laughed. 

"Eh, ye may laugh," said Sandy, **an' as for 
ye, Deacon Drawback, ye have no more ear for 
music than yer mules, an' no more voice! But 
if ye'll come ootside maybe I'll mak' ye seeng 
a defferent toon frae what yer turnin' now!" 

But Drawback only "Ha! ha'd!"as the others 
did, and Sandy rolled his swivel eye about the 
room, then went outside. Once there, his other 
eye fell on his adversary's mules. 

"Ha! ha!" he said; "well, maybe then I've 
found the right key now!" and in five minutes' 
time, with very knowing looks, he came in 
quietly and took his seat. 

The humor of the scene pervaded everything, 
and Donald rose, his face all smiles, and read 
from Barbara's manuscript: 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 195 

BONNIE DOON. 



Part Second, 



Time : — A Market Night in Summer, 

The Auld Town of Ayr. 
The Koad to Alloway. 
Scenes: — -{ Kirk Alloway by Night. 
The Half-mile to the Brig. 
.The Brig o' Doon. 

** Ye banks and braes o* bonnie Doon 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
When I sae weary fu' o' care? *' 



SCENE 1. 

THE STEEET AND INN AT AYR BY NIGHT. 



Inn Sign at the corner : 



Auld Ayr Inn. 
JoN Anderson. 



(Entrance door — steps and portico — large win- 
dow, with bench underneath — lights inside 
showing through window— lamps burn in the 
street— people pass and repass.) 



196 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

(Tarn O'Shanter's mare, Meg, is hitched to a 
post on side of street. 

(The sound of a fiddle is heard inside the inn 
— playing "Duncan Gray," to which, amid loud 
laughter, clinking glasses keep time to the 
symphony, then invisible chorus sings:) 

** Robin Burns comes here to woo — 
Rob Burns the ploughman O ! 
Ere he goes we'll fill him fou, 
Rob Burns the ploughman O!" 

(At the conclusion of this Tam O'Shanter 
sticks his head out of window and sings in loud, 
drunken manner:) 

" To every lass on Ayr or Doon 

We'll fill a glass an' drink her doun, 
For we are wakin' the auld toun 
For Rob Burns the ploughman 0!" 

(The chorus inside is repeated, with click of 
glasses and shouts as before — Tam's head dis- 
appears as auld Elfie comes down the street, 
leaning on a staff. She goes to the window and 
peers in.) 

**Nae, nae,*' she says, ''he is na there; yet 
where else can A' gae? They told me Robin 
was in Ayr the day, an' yet, for a' my wearyin' 
A' canna find him. A' was na hame when he 
ca'd at the auld biggin; but A'll see him here 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 197 

—aye, an' A'U speir him who it was that did 
my work when A' was gane. Aye, but A' ken 
'twas he. Ah, monie simmers past an' gane 
sin' A' saw my braw lad A' dandled i'my arms. 
A'll see him ance again. A'll wait him here — 
aye, tho' he come not a' th' nicht, auld Eltie'll 
wait." (She sits on seat under the window.) 

(The singing is renewed and scraping of fiddle 
is heard inside. Loud laughter follows and the 
window -bole opens and Tarn puts out his head 
and shouts:) 

*'0h — yez! oh,yez! oh, yes! onyanewhohas 
na gotten a saxpence come ye in an' ha' a stoup 
wi'me!" 

(Laughter inside. They try to pull him in — 
auld Eltie recognizes Tarn:) 

*'It's Tam O'Shanter at his auld trecks." 

**Haudon! hand on!" cries Tam as he leans 
out. "There's something like a lassie here. 
Ane kiss for Tam!" 

**Tak' it, ye deil ye !" says Elfie, as she kisses 
him. 

(Loud laughing inside, in which Tam joins. 
Then, seeing the old woman he has kissed, he 
exclaims:) 

**Auld Elfie! Bymebreeks! Weel, I'll na 
back oot! Anither! A gude theng is a gude 
theng even when it's auld. Dom but it's a gude 



198 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

thing it's dark! Haud! Here's your stoup to 
pay for it!" (He passes out a stoup to Elfie and 
sings: 

**For we are wakin' the auld toun. 
For Rob Burns the ploughman O!" 

**Aha, ye deil!" says Elfie as she laughs and 
drinks. "Dka night yer fou'; but A' forgive 
ye; for yer heart's fou' too; auld Elfie ne'er 
forgets yer gudeness a' the winter days. The 
oatmeal an' the barley rips for me an' puir auld 
Crumbie— ah, me! Who's this?— why, Eab?" 

(She runs to Gilbert, mistaking him for Robert, 
as he comes to the inn.) 

•'Mistaken altogether," Gilbert says. **rm 
only Gilbert Burns." 

*'His brither! Laddie, is it ye? An' yese na 
ken auld Elfie noo?" 

'*Elfie McLeod? Aye— aye— my gude auld 
friend! I ken ye now. Ye minded Rob when 
he was but a bairn." 

'*Aye, aye— an' spanked him weel; an' sang 
him sangs; an' tauld him tales, an' lo'ed him a' 
my days!" 

*'Bless ye, Elfie— yes, I mind it all; an' 
Robin's na forgotten ye!" 

*• An' never will," says Robin, as he comes and 
grasps her hand. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 199 

*'Ah— ah! Rab— dear Rab— an' is it ye?" 
cries Elfie, through her tears. 

**Elfie! my gude auld friend!" (They em- 
brace and shake hands— the old woman dancing 
for joy.) 

**Ah— Rab— A' bin lookin' for ye a' the 
day." 

**I thank ye for it, Elfie, frae my heart. Ye 
were not hame when we called in. Ye got my 
word?" 

**Aye, aye— an' a' th' wark ye did for me! 
Oh, Rab— the cattle an' the firein'. Oh! ye're 
sae gude to me! But here A' am!" 

**Gude heart— ye're tired— sit down!" 

*'Nae, A'd stan' lookin' at ye a' th' nicht!" 

**Nay, sit ye down. A stoup o' ale; come ben 
wi'me!" 

*'Nae, nae, na ben the Inn. They'd turn me 
oot." 

'^They'd be right sorry if they did. A-weel, 
sit here— ye'll ha' a stoup?" 

**A' had it here," (Tarn and others sing in- 
side.) **FraeTam." 

'*I see. Weel, then, tak' ane wi' me!" (He 
taps on window. Tam sticks his head out and 
exclaims:) 

*'The Lord preserve us! But Rab's got her 
noo!" (He sings.) 



200 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

** Robin Burns came here to woo — 
For Rob Burns the ploughman O!" 

**Tak' a stoup wi' me. Three here! (Mugs 
are set out.) 

*'Rab, come ye in!" says Tam. 

**Elfie," says Robert, **1'11 see ye down by 
yonder light in half an hour. Gae there an' ask 
for me an' wait. I'd talk wi' ye of other times." 

**Weel— A'll be there. Elfie'll no sleep; but 
sit an' talk a' nicht o' ye an' auld lang syne!" 
(She goes down the street— Burns in the Inn. 
Gilbert reappears in company with Davie.) 

'* An' sae ye came to market here," says Davie. 
**rm glad to see ye all frae auld Lochlea. I'm 
frae hame mysel'; but what brought ye? No 
more bad luck, I hope?" 

**The worst; but that's not it. ItwasRobert's 
wish to see his birthplace once again, and bring 
poor father wi' us. The auld man's failin' fast 
an' it may be the last time here for a' o' us ! 
But Robert's here!" 

**Ah, Davie Sillar!" says Robert, as he comes 
to greet him, **is it you?" 

*'Aye, your true frien' forever!" 

**Aye? Weel, Davie, Siller's a frien' to stand 
by." 

"Ha! ha! prove me wi'out it, Rob. Wel- 
come to Ayr!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 201 

**Thanks, Davie; gude it's been for a' o' us. 
Twa wagon loads o' boys an' girls, wi' father, 
Gilbert an' th' rest!" 

**Hey! brawlie! brawlie! Rob." 

**Ah!" Robert cries. **But it is gude to feel 
the glow within the heart. Ane breath o' 
liberty; relief from care; the glory o' the coun- 
try road, wi' Nature noddin' to ye on the 
way!" 

**Aye! aye!" 

**Think o' a day in Ayr! The biggin where I 
first saw light." 

'*Ye mean the smoke," says Gilbert, laugh- 
ingly. 

''A-weel— the light we could na see! The 
ingle an' the single door. I trembled as I drew 
the sneck, an' every one of us took off our caps, 
an' father knelt an' prayed!" 

*' Robin!" 

** Davie — he'll never come again until he 
comes to Alloway, among the graves he 
tended." 

** Yonder he is," says Gilbert kindly. **ril go 
an' bring him here!" 

(As Gilbert goes, Davie takes Robert aside:) 

** Robin, I grieve that poverty has dealt so 
hard." 

"Ah— weel," says Robert, feelingly, **we'd 



202 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

walked, but we'd a come. But Mallie's lambs 
we sold gave us the siller for it— Davie, 

"It's no in titles nor in rank — 
It's no in wealth like Luunon bank 
To purchase peace or rest. 

If happiness hae not her seat 
And center in the breast!" 

'*Right, brither Scot and Scribbler," Davie 
says, **there is my hand. A'm wi' ye thro' it 
a'. I hear ye talked o' goin' to the Indies, 
Rob?" 

**When all else fails, I go. Jamaica, or I care 
not where; but twa things stay me now." 

**And they?" 

"While father lives I'll never leave him; but 
help him till the last. For him, for all, no 
work's too hard; no fare too poor; no sacrifice 
too great." 

•*And the other?" 

**My Highland Mary and her love, which fills 
my inmost heart!" 

**She's worthy, Rob." 

"Aye, but one more, Davie, I forgot " 

"Who?" 

"Your love an' mine— the Scottish Muse! 
She keeps us poor together!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 203 

(Gilbert leads his father forward— Robert 
turns and greets him.) 

** Father!" 

**Mr. Burns," says Davie, bowing, with his cap 
in hand. 

**I thank ye, lads. Wi' a' my heart, I thank 
ye!'' 

** Father, sit down," says Robert, as he brings 
a chair. 

**Aye, Robin, I'm sae grateful for this visit to 
our auld home, an' good Kirk Alloway ! It's a 
welcome, an' my last ! My heart turns to it, but 
it canna keep me — naething can keep me wi' 
ye! 

Courage, auld frien'," says Davie with regret. 
All will bo well. Gude-night. A'll see ye 
soon again. Robert, come here!" (They step 
aside.) **Rob, there's my han', an' if ye ever 
need me, ca'." 

** Davie, God sain ye! I shall ne'er forget." 

**Care for him, Rob, an' take him in! I go 
to take some lasses hame. We'll pass this way 
to see ye." 

**Ye'll find me here. I'll lodge dear father in 
the Inn, an' go our ways th' morrow. Sunday's 
a day for travel, weel as rest. But come ye 
back." 

**I will." 






204 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**If I'm no here — ye'll find me where ye see 
yon light." 

"Aye, I ken the place. A' yer frien's are 
waitin' there to gie ye welcome for lang syne. 
There's half the lads an' lasses o' the town." 

*'Ah! Dear auld Ayr!" Kobert exclaims, 

** Auld Ayr which none surpasses 
For honest men and bonnie lasses. 

'*So come ye back when father is asleep, an' 
a' is weel— we can't refuse a night o' it!" 

(They shake hands and part— Davie going up 
the street— and Robert to his father. Gilbert 
goes into the inn and Tam and others shout in- 
side. Haley Willie and Katy O'Shanter come 
down the street in conversation. Robert, while 
they talk, gives hay to Meg.) 

"Woman!" says Willie, "I do ma dooty! 1 
ha' brought ye here— now do the leestenen' for 
yersel'." 

**I ken it a'," says Katy with a glance. 
"There's Meg tied there a' day — naething to 
eat, an' he's a' dreenk inside. Willie, ye're vera 
mean." 

"I thonk ye!" Willie answers with a bow. 

"But Tam's a worse!" says Katy. 

"A-weel," says Willie, "I thenk ye ken. 
But that young deevil Robin's worse than a' !" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 205 

**I mind him there!" says Katy, pointing 
Robin out. 

** Whist! then," says Willie, '*I would naeera- 
tate him. He has a way o' keekin' wi' his 
fute." 

(Tam sticks his head out of window, as if for 
air — and cries out:) 

**Whew! I'm glorious!" (He sees Katy.) 
"The wife! Thedeevil!" 

(He disappears and shuts the window with a 
bang— Katy cries:) 

**Ah, Tam! Ohone! The men! The men! 
There's no gude in them a' thegither. Meg, stay 
ye here — A'll come again an' bring ye I" 

'*An' me?" says Willie, following. 

*'You? Baah!" (Katy goes up the street.) 

Willie looks after her and says quietly : **rm a 
baad mon ! Ah, weel, there's ane conseelation— 
twa — Tam is waur — an' Rob's no gude at a'!" 

(Robert comes forward and confronts him:) 

**Ah, Willie, if ye're preachin', let us hear. 
Don't waste your sweetness on the Ayr!" 

** Jokin' again!" says Willie, **nae wonder 
ye're poor aff . Ye'd better wark. Yer sweet- 
ness is na wasted on the air on ony ither place 
I ken." 

''Because," says Robin, ''there's na gude 
place where ye're acquaint — but as for work— if 



206 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

ye warked as weel for ither's gude as ye strive 
for their undoing ye might be something like a 
man instead of the vile auld deevil that ye are!" 

**0h— ah! Hoot— toot! A deevil am I? 
Heigh?" 

**Yes! Never glower! Has na one ca'ad ye 
by your name before? Then tak' it home frae 
me, an' write it down against ye next forget!" 

**0h, ho! I'll na forget! I'll warm ye yet! 
I'll wark for that!" 

**Work! work!" cries Kobert. *'No — no hon- 
est work for you! If you'd do manly work — 
come out wi' men, at mowin', reapin', in the hot 
sun or the cold — at the plough, or a' day on the 
weary threshing floor ! Will ye do aught of 
this?" 

**Iwull! That's — nae— yeken I cannadoit." 

*' Ah, no — and yet ye're big and tall and strong 
as ithers are; but ye hae not the spirit nor the 
heart, an' liein', wi' you, is an easier task!" 

**Dom!— Young man, see here. Ye're needin' 
gude advice!" 

**Well, then, I'll tak' it frae a mon who comes 
by it honestly and one who does not give what 
he has never earned, nor preach what he has 
never yet performed." 

**Tak' care! I ken your doin's wi' each coun- 
try lass." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 207 

**I know, you've spied and speired and told 
it all—go on!" 

**Well, then, I can. I hae the proofs. This 
day I saw ye in the widow's house." 

**Aye— and in auld Elfie's too— what then?" 

"Ah! ye confess! The Lord be praised my 
conscience is clear. I never wranged a widdy 
in my life!" 

"The deevil doubt. They would na let ye! 
Let that go. Well, then, these hands, this day, 
have done the widow's work — tended her cattle 
— cut wood for her fire — warmed her poor home 
and let the sunshine in her heart!" 

"You?" cries Willie, in astonishment. 

"Aye — an' Tarn O'Shanter, whom you love 
to revile, has given her the corn he brought to 
sell — even the fodder for his auld mare, Meg. 
Now go an' lie about this wi' th' rest." 

"I'll say it'll no be for the widdy's gude. 
What's given by the weecked will no ease her 
sorrow, but add to her shame!" 

"Silence! Not a word! Call Robert Burns 
the vilest of the vile, but not a slur upon a 
Scottish woman here — be she lass or wife, or 
widow or a witch. I'll not stand by and hear 
it!" 

"Oh— ah! Offender and defender!" Willie 
sneers. 



208 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Be it so! And be I what I may, to this I 
stand: He who will not defend a worthy woman, 
is himself unworthy of the name of man!'' 

(He passes Willie in great scorn, then turns 
and threatens him:) 

**Now go! or there's one thing the wicked 
gives ye'U feel when ye receive." 

"The keeck! thekeeck! I understand! I'll 
no stay to receive it. I tak' the will for the 
deed! It's ma dooty." He hurries down the 
street. 

(William Burns rises and advancing to Kobert, 
takes his hand.) 

^'Robert, your hand. If I have ever doubted 
you, it was my fault. If I have ever counseled 
ye, it was a father's love." 

''Father!" Robert cries, "that name com- 
mands my life!" 

"I'm sorry that ye lost your temper, 
Robert." 

"I'm glad it's gone— although I hate to part 
with what you gave me, father!" 

"Robert, if I have ever given you one uncanny 
gift— God knows I could na help it. 'Tis in 
nature to be imperfect. Let a' your failings 
come frae me then, if ye will; but a' your gude 
is Heaven-born, and has upon it, far above your 
hunable birth, the patent of nobility!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 209 

•'Father, the bad that's in me I'll endeavor to 
subdue — the gude I'll try to honor." 

**Then leave your loves behind ye — and go on 
your road of life in peace." 

**The road of life's a dark uncertain course. 
Without the torch of love, we are lost in night 
an' a' the way's a-weary ! Kather a stony road 
o'er rugged hills, where wild flowers bloom 
around ye, than a' the clearer and the better 
ways without them !" 

(Gilbert comes out of the Inn.) 

'•All's ready, father!" 

"Boys, gude night. God bless ye!" 

'*Good-night— God bless you, father!" both 
reply. 

(They lead him to the open door and stand on 
either side. As the old man is about to go — he 
turns and speaks with great feeling:) 

**Accept a father's thanks for all your love — 
for the day and its sights and the night and its 
rest. It is the last will come to me until I come 
again to Alio way I" 

(He turns, and Gilbert leads him in. Robert 
is lost in thought.) 

**Alas, that ruin drives its shadows over one 
sae good. Age has no hope; but youth can 
work its way. Toil is the Cotter's curse; but 
still a comfort, too, to those who can forget. 



210 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Oh, Mary Campbell, parted from me here, per- 
haps forever gone, why do I dream of thee? 
Why, in my sleep, hear you repeat that you may 
ne'er be mine? Why has another sweet face, 
like a shadow, come between? I must not 
think of it, nor Jeannie Armour more — nor 
Mauchline fair— nor Mauchline belles! Wel- 
come, auld Ayr ! Welcome auld haunts of happy 
love ; and Bonnie Doon— oh, take me back again, 
that these dear scenes may mind me of the past 
and keep me faithful to it." 

(Madge McGowan, worn and weary— as if 
from a long journey— appears before the inn 
and stops — seeing Robert, she exclaims:) 

**Eh!— a mon! stand frae the way ! I'm but a 
timid lass and maunna speak to ony mon— es- 
pecially when in the street— alone at night!" 

** Madge!" cries Robert, as he hears the voice. 

**Eh!— is it ye?" she cries in joy. **My 
frien'! my frien'— I've found ye ! oh, I've found 
ye!" (Shakes his hand in excess of delight.) 

*'What is the matter?" Robert questions her. 
"Is it Mary? Speak!" 

**A message frae her only," Madge replies. 
'*I came first to Lochlie — found ye had started 
here, an hour ahead, an' sae I followed, a' the 
afternoon, the cart tracks in the road, until I 
found ye — for I could na rest until I'd kept my 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 211 

word-— and given ye Mary's letter!" (She takes 
it from her breast and gives it to Robert, who 
opens it with trembling hands and reads:) 

*'Dear Robert Burns: How little ken we o' the 
sorrows and the chances that may come. I send 
poor Madge wi' this, that she may keep my place 
at the Castle o' Montgomery, fearing I never 
may come back. Robin, I know your father's 
ill, but, dearest, my poor brother's like to die. 
This, an' the cares that come to me, I must 
stand by, until the day when I can come again 
— if come I ever can. 0, love, my dream is ever in 
my mind— that I shall see you nevermore. Pray 
that I may, as I do. Be good to Madge— she's 
been a frien' through all, and now, poor lass, she 
has na hame to shelter her. Be patient till I 
come, and stay assured I'll be there e'er the 
summer's over— or be dead! Dinna forget me! 
Remember a' our parting words. Think of our 
happy days by Ayr, and take the kiss I send ye. 

**Robin, my ain, my only love! 

**YouR Mary." 

(Robert kisses the letter and goes and leans 
upon the window-sill to hide his tears. Madge, 
seeing his sorrow, rushes to him and kneels and 
cries:) **0, turn me out i' the night for bringin' 
it Kill me — if it's brot ye harm." 

''You know what she has said?" asks Robert 
kindly. 



212 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

'*More than she'd ever say. I know she'd 
die for you!" 

**What were her words to you?" 

*'I canna tell ye all; but this she said: You 
must be patient, like to her, and take no care or 
sorrow till ye meet again?" 

"My ain beloved Mary. Think ye she'll ever 
come?" 

**Nae, never doubt. If she's alive— before 
the summer's passed— she'll come!" 

*'Well, then, let's look with brightness on the 
worst— but I'm forgetting you! Are you not 
tired?" 

"It's naught to me. I was born on the road 
an' care na for Scots miles. I been o'er them 
a', an' ilka day gae jinketin' about— frae Gretna 
to Groat's house— Glasco' to Aberdeen— sae the 
leetle walk frae Greenock here is naething 
at a'!" 

"Poor lass. Have you had anything to eat?" 

"Naething. The haws are na ripe, an' my 
sillers a' gane.*' 

"Take a' o' mine." (Robert gives money.) 
"Gae in. The best in Ayr is yours." 

*«Nay__-I came to tak' Mary's place at the 
Castle o' Montgomery. I'll gae there in the 
mornin', an' I can wait till then." 

"Not while I've a farthing or a friend in Ayr. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 213 

I'll order supper for ye. Sit ye down and rest." 
(He puts her in seat.) 

**Nae wonder Mary lo'ed ye. I wish I only 
lo'ed ye half as well I" 

"I'd be proud of it," Eobert says. 

'*Ye would?" says Madge, *'ye're giein' me!" 

**Nae," exclaims Kobert; **rd be proud of the 
love and respect of every woman in the world." 

•*Eh me, an' I'm only ane o' them a'!" says 
bonnie Madge, and then she adds as if the 
words came from her heart — **But Mary's love 
has been more to me than a' the lovers that I 
ever met!" 

**Good lass!" says Robert, touched by her in- 
nocent words. '*ril gie ye a kiss for that!" 

** Ah !" says Madge, *'ye rover, wi' yer whilly- 
was! Dinna ye come near mer' (She runs 
away.) 

**What!" says Robert playfully — **not even a 
kiss?" 

"Nae! Nae!" (She archly sings:) 

** *Gin a body kiss a body, somebody maun cry I' " 

"But," says Robert, "ane for Mary, an' ye'U 
take it back to her!" 
"Ah — weel — for her sake — gie me a hundred !" 
(Burns kisses her as they sit on seat.) 
(Tam puts his head out of window and sings :) 



Jil4 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

*' *To every lass on Ayr or Doon 

He'll fill a glass and drink her doun; 
For he is courtin' a' the toun — 
Rab Burns, the ploughman O !' " 

(As Tarn finishes, he snatches Robert's cap 
from his head and takes it inside.) 

**It's Tarn," Robert explains, *'and Souter 
Jonny in their spree. Don't mind him." 

**Eh! Drunken Tam! I mind him weel frae 
the last Vesset. He's a bod gillie's, Tam!" 

**Nay, Madge— nay, Tam's a' right. Come 
in." (He takes her into Inn.) 

(Willie reappears, watching them as they 

go.) 

**A-ah! There goes the Prodigal Sin— the 
young deevil. (Looks in door.) **It's wine an' 
women noo. He'll shortly want the husks, an' 
when it comes to the swine — then I'll be there. 
A-ha! then Willie wilna' ge yie een a husk! 
Aha!" (He disappears.) 

(Robert comes out of the Inn, speaking as he 
comes.) 

'*I got the supper for the lass; but couldna' 
get my cap again. Tam's o'erfull, and Souter 
Jenny's ready to fa' under the table. I ha' 
stolen away in time." (Loud yells inside.) 
Burns turns and meets Davie and ladies — at 
sight of them he exclaims: 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 215 

**Davie! Bessie! The deil— an' the stranger 
lass! Your pardon, but I fear you've found me 
out — I mean you've found me in. Will ye go in 
yourselves— I mean will ye gae hame? Oh, 
what a damnable introduction!" 

*'The lasses, Kab," says Davie with a laugh. 

**Gude e'en to both— I— I must go." (Burns 
starts.) 

*'Are ye not acquainted then?" asks Davie. 

"Miss Jeannie, by your leave " 

"Jeannie! ' Burns exclaims. 

**Miss Jean Armour! My friend, Kobert 
Burns!" (They bow in recognition, and Davie 
exclaims:) ''Why, Eobert, I wonder ye're no 
well acquaint.'* 

'Tardon,' Robert replies. *'Many are weel 
acquaint who never met, Frien' Davie. The 
belles o' Mauchline hae been in my mind, if not 
in my eye — these many days." 

**Take care then, frien'," says bonnie Jean, 
'*they dinna creep into your heart." 

**I fear they'd find poor shelter,'' Burns re- 
plies. 

"Why?" she asks archly, *'is the place sae 
full?" 

(Tam opens the window — shows his head and 
shouts :) 

**iiab, come m! She's waitin' for ye!" 



216 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**You see," says ^Burns, ''it's full!" (All 
laugh.) 

*'But," says Davie, **ye forget the saw: 
'There s always room for ane more.' " 

•'For ane," says Bessie. **Nay, for a hun- 
dred, by his looks!" 

'*An' thousands, by his verses," Davie says. 

"Keep it a secret then in auld Mauchline,*' 
says bonnie Jean, "or Mossgiel farmhouse, 
which he's soon to take, will never hold his 
female friends and callers." 

"Well," says Robert gallantly," those who pull 
the sneck, when it is ours, shall aye be welcome 
to its humble fare; but Mossgiel's a' too cold to 
shelter Mauchline's fairer flowers. Naething 
but haws and gowans thrive there." 

"Take care," says Jean. "The man who 
mourns the daisy's ^fate will one day tend the 
rose within his sunny window." 

"Heaven grant I may! Your hands," says 
Robert as he bows. 

"Gude night." 

"Gude night! Gude night!" say all, and 
Robert answers : 

"Gude night — Davie, come back. Bonnie 
lasses, both — gude night. I'm sorry I detained 
ye on the street; but for my peace o' mind I'm 
glad it's dark!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 217 

*'Aye!" Jean replies prophetically— *'^w^ 
therein come the day when we' II see more o' ye.'' » 
** Perhaps," is Kobert's answer. 

"For tho' in Ayr we say good e'en — 
We'll say good day in auld Mauchline! 

''^o aurevoir," (Davie goes with the ladies 
and Burns retires.) 

(Katy returns and stands looking at Meg.) 

**Now, Meg, an' ye're there yet. Poor beast, 
ye're better than the beast inside. Ye stand, 
an' he can't. Well, Meg, an' ye stay there half 
the night, I'll nae ride ye hame this time. The 
last time I did he was free for a gude time. 
Now he maan look after ye, an' weel I ken, 
Meg, ye're the only ane can bring him hame!" 

(Kobert, seeing her trouble, comes forward 
and speaks.) 

**Good e'en, frien'! In trouble yet? I'll do 
my best for ye and Tam." 

'*Eh, Rab, is't ye? Ye have. He'd be a bet- 
ter mon if he didna keep company wi' the likes 
of ye!" 

** Thanks, Katy.*' 

** Ye're welcome. He's fou' o' yer sangs; 
he's fou' o' yer saws. He's fou' o' yer canty 
company; he's fou' o' barleycorn." 

** Well, then, good Katy, will ye listen why?" 



218 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"Be plain as 1 hae been wi' ye." 

"Because his house is empty— do ye ken? 
The ingle's out within the heart that loves him, 
and care's his only welcome by your chimla 
lug. Gae hame, gude wife, an' put your ain 
heart right. One smile is better than a hun- 
dred frowns. Relight your love. Do this for 
Tam's sake an' yer ain, and a' the inns in Scot- 
land canna draw him from your side." 

"Thanks, Rab," says Katy in a feeling tone. 
"I thenk ye are my gude frien' after a'. Forgive 
what I ha' said an' I'll tak' yer advice." 

"And I," says Rab— "I'll help ye follow it." 

"I thank ye, Rab, but let me gie him ane gude 
beatin' first— ane lesson that'll settle him and 
down John Barleycorn as well!" 

"Nae — nae," says Rab. "Begin nae gude 
work wi' a wrong." 

"Well, then," says Katy,"the very deil must 
follow him to scare it out!" 

''He shalir' says Rob. 

"The deil?" 

"The deil himself, of whom alone poor Tam's 
afraid. Whist! Katy, come here. As Tam 
rides hame to-night, the deil take me if auld 
Nick does not frighten a' the barleycorn f rae out 
his thoughts forever!" 

"Gude! Gude! But how? I ken there's 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 219 

carles and bogles on the road. Some say auld 
Clautie has been seen, an' some ha' heerd the 
screechin' by the dead man's well — an' where 
the murdered bairn was found — and ghaists 
about the graves o' Alloway!" 

**We've been there half the day," says 
Robert, ''and in the bury in' ground whose walls 
we helped to build. I ha' the Kirk key now." 
(Shows it.) '"Tis an uncanny spot when a' is 
silent after dark — only the haunt for owls that 
hoot, an' goblins who at midnight jow the bell!" 

*'Eh— a-a-h!" says Katy, shuddering. **I 
wonder Tarn can ride it by !" 

*'He'll stop to-night!" says Robert. 

*'What do ye mean?" asks Katy in a whisper. 

*'Whist! Katy, in these sorry hard worked 
times— it is na often I can come to Ayr. Now 
I'm here, it's for a day and night." (Takes her 
aside mysteriously. ) **Hush ! When father an' 
the auld folks gae to bed, twenty young deevils 
like myself, will loose themselves on Ayr— and, 
as for Tam — we'll send him hame a sober man !" 

"Weel, then the deil will work a miracle!" 

**He will. Down yonder where ye see the 
light's the room we meet in. There we've auld 
clothes— guisards we've used for singin' round 
on holidays — gipsies an' hags; carlines an' 
carles; war-locks an' withches— which we'll a' 



220 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

put on— an' faith, to make us deils we'll need 
but sma' disguise-— and so, stealin' down to Allo- 
way, we'll give frien' Tam a rouser!" 

**Yer hand!" cries Katy. **A'll gang wi' ye! 
Aye — an' a' the market lasses not gane hame!" 

**Aye," says Robert with delight. **Auld 
Elfie's there — almost a witch herself— who, in 
the days lang syne~has filled me full o' goblin 
stories." 

'*Gude!" says Katy; **an' the bonnie lassie 
come to ye frae Greenock." 

"Aye— aye!" says Rob, **she's fou' o' fun. 
She'll dance in clothes or out — a cutty-sark o' 
a' work." 

•*Aye," says Katy. *'But for auld Nick?" 

*'We ha' him," Robin cries. *'Haley Willie! 
He'll no need disguisin'— he's auld Nick 
himself." 

"The vera mon!" says Katy. "Talk o' the 
deil— he comes ! 

"Whist! whist! No word," says Robin. 
"Get your frien's; meet us by yonder light! 
Whist!" 

(Katy goes up the street— Robin looks after 

her.) 

"Ah, gentle dames, it gars me greet 
To think how many counsels sweet — 
How many lengthened sage advices 
The husband frae the wife despises. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 221 

"Now ril send Davie and Gilbert after Willie, 
while I go find the rest. Poor Tarn ! You'll get 
a surprise to-night, to wind up a' your joy. 

**But pleasures are like poppies spread — 
You grasp the flower its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snowfall in the river — 
A moment white then melts forever!" 

(Kobertgoes down the street. Willie returns 
and walks about.) 

**ril do my duty to mysel', this time. This 
is my market night, too, an' ma mutton's inside 
waitin' to be sold. Bauld Tam O'Shanter don't 
gae hame this night wi'out his fairin' !" (Fiddle 
heard). **He plays his feedle. Let him play. 
He'll be the ane to dance himself." 

(Davie and Gilbert come up, and accost 
Willie.) 

*'Hey, Willie, mon. Frien' Willie." 

**Gang yer waus— I've beezeness." 

**And sae ha' we. Revenge." 

*' Aye, double dommed !" says Willie. 

**0n whom?" they ask. 

**Onhim!" (Pointingin.) *That*bletherin', 
blusterin', drunken blellum !' " 

**Gude! Tam! We're for the same." 

**Aye— an' for Rab," says Willie. 

**The same ! For Rab !" they both exclaim. 



^'22 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**They need a lesson and we'll give them 
one. 

**A hoondred. How?" asks Willie. 

** We'll scare the deil out o' Tam — and duck 
Rab in the river." 

**Gude! Gude!" cries Willie with delight. 
"A'm wi' ye." 

**Come then with us to Alloway— -we'll tell ye 
as we go along." 

**We'll be disguised," says Davie. **Willie, 
ye'll be the deevil." 

**1?" says Willie. '*Mon, I've no disguise." 

**Ye'llnoneedit," Gilbert answers. **Come!" 

**A'll be auld Nick," cries Willie as he rubs 
his hands. **Gude! Gude! For naething else 
will do for Tam O'Shanter." (They disappear. 
Robert returns, with cloaks on arm.) 

** All's ready for the carts, "he says. *' Willie's 
caught, now then for Madge. Nae time to lose. 
It's almost closing hour an' Tam maun go." 
(He calls at door.) *'Madge! Madge! come 
here." (Beckons.) **Quick, come wi' me— 
we're goin' home!" 

(Madge appears at the Inn door.) 

**A' right. A'm glad to gae. This is no 
place for ony lass — not even ane frae Greenock. 
My cockernony's a' touzled." 

i^Burns looks in door and laughs.) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 223 

**Tam's kissing the landlady. Oh, only wait. 
Come out." 

(All the maskers appear on side of street.) 

"Hush!" says Robert— *'are ye a' right? 
Back up the carts." 

"There'll be a storm!" says Elfie. 

"Naething," says Robert, "to what we're 
brewing for Tam." 

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaims Gilbert. 

"The deil's in the elements," says Davie, 
"as well as wi' us." 

"Eh," says Willie, "ye're siccan a bad lot, 
ye maun ha' a speechal deil o' yer ane." 

"Aye—an' he's here," Robin says. "We're 
glad ye're wi' us, Willie." 

"Aye," says Willie — "an' yer a' at hame in 
^ma company," 

"Wow! there's rain!" cries Elfie. 

"Water won't hurt ye, Willie," Robin 
says. 

"Nae," says Elfie. "Auld Nick's always out 
in the rain." 

"Rain!" cries Robin, "never fear it. If Tam 
escapes us it will only be a Scotch mist!'' 

(They all huddle in the carts, and drive oflP 
laughing down the street. When all are gone, 
noise of laughing and singing is repeated inside. 
Tam and Souter Jonny appear at door of Inn, 



224 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

steadying each other, and followed by Jon and 
Joey Anderson, with a light— Tarn sings:) 

"To every lass on Ayr or Doon 
We'll fill a glass an' then fa' doun. 
For, Soiiter Jonnj^ ye' re a loun, 
An' sae is Tarn O'Shanter, O!" 

(The landlord unties Meg, and brings her to 
front of Inn, her head facing down the street. 
Joey shuts the window. Tarn tries to mount, 
in every way, but fails. Jonny helps, and finally 
gets on his hands and knees. Tarn then steps 
on him— and, assisted by the landlord and land- 
lady, mounts. Jonny falls flat. Tam starts off. 
Calls: **Stirrup cup," gets it— starts again. 
Calls: "Good-night kiss," gets it— and ridf^s off 
on Meg, very drunk, and singing, down the 
street. Souter Jonny is laid out on bench for 
the night. Landlord closes the house, as land- 
lady holds the light. Both retire and close the 
door. Meg's departing steps are heard and 
faint voices singing in the distance. ) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 226 



SCENE II. 
THE ROAD TO ALLOW AY. 

(Low thunder rolls— distant lightning, which 
becomes more vivid during the scene. Bagpipes 
sound in the distance, and die out. It is very 
dark. Noise of wind. Tam O'Shanter is heard 
singing and presently appears, riding Meg; but 
facing the wrong way, and holding on to saddle 
tree.) 

*'Ho— ho! I'm goin' h-o-ome! H-o-m-e! 
Whadesay?" (Meg stops.) **Are we there, or 
are we past it? Nay — Katy'll let me know 
vvhen we get there. Hiep! Hie! Was matter 
wizz mare? She's lost her head! I've often 
lost mine. Her turn now. Hie! Turn round, 
ye auld beast — whoa, who-ho-ah." (Sings:) 

" *We are na fou' — we're na that fou' — 
But wee bet drappee in our e'e — ■ 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
But ah, we'll dreenk our barlee bree.' 

**Wh-where's that rooster? Why don't he 
craw?" (Crows.) **Ook-o-ook-o-ou!" 



^26 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

(An owl hoots and wild laughter answers.) 

** Wow ! Dom but there's something the mat- 
ter wi' his craw." (Shuddering.) **Gae on, 
Meg, before the deevil gets us. An' ye nae gae, 
A'll be hame before ye. Aha! We're gaein' 
noo. Look how the trees fly by. Hey— but 
we're flyin' juist. I'll baud her in. Where— 
where deil are th' reins? She's got the bit i' her 
mouth. Wha's that? Why, that's her tail!" 
(Laughs.) **Ha! ha! ha! ha! hand me, or I'll 
drap. When I fell off I was so drunk an' it was 
sae dark, I got on wrong way. Why— what the 
deil! She's standin' still. Hand on, Meg, 
longer I ride this way, farther I am frae hame! 
Whoa, turn ye round!" 

(Meg turns round— facing the other way). 
**Nay, it's a' th' same. What withershins is 
this? How'll I ever tell which way tae gae. 
It's sae dark I canna tell which is Meg an' 
which is mysel' ; ane o' us is wrang way— dang! 
I'll turn my sel'." (Turns.) **Nuw, hang ye — 
gang yer gates. Gee — whoa, turn round." 
(She turns and stops.) *'What ails ye noo? 
What's that ahead? A glow-worm or a bleeze?" 

(Bagpipes are heard again.) 

**Ah! noise o' pipes— an' auld Nick tunes. 
Gae by 'em, Meg. It's auld kirk Alloway, 
where deils an' witches often meet at night 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 227 

— a-ah, Meg, ye weeked deevil, ye. The Laird 
preserve yer soul! Gee-up-there — geeV 

(Thunder and lightning.) 

**Wow! what a night!" (Yells are heard!) 
**Wow! ow! Gae-lang! The deil is in it noo! 
0-oh!" 

(Meg is urged forward, amid thunder and 
sharp flashes of lightning— Tam crouching on 
her back.) 



SCENE III. 

KIRK ALLOWAY BY NIGHT. 

(Lights shine through Gothic windows and 
through half-opened door on graveyard with- 
out. Wild laughter. All the characters as 
devils, ghosts, carles, and carlines discovered 
in a dance. Burns and Madge are partners in 
front. Willie, as auld Nick, raised on table, 
plays the pipes. Ghosts, right and left, hold 
lighted torches. Tam rides up to opening, and 
sits on Meg, looking in with wonder and de- 
light. As the dance grows wilder he becomes 
excited and joins in the music with his fiddle, 
which he plays in animated drunken manner. 
The characters scream with delight in the ex- 
hilaration of the scene. They play and swing 
and circle around, leaving Madge in the centre. 



228 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

She dances wildly, throwing off her gown and 
outer clothes. As she kicks, all yell and Tarn 
shouts loudly :) 

•'Weeldone, Cutty Sark!" 

(At sound of Tarn's voice all the demons 
groan:) 

'*W-o-o-o-oh!" 

(The lights go out, the music stops. The 
warlocks rush for Tarn at the centre opening. 

He escapes on Meg, and a yell of execration is 
heard, with low thunder and lightning as the 
scene closes in.) 



SCENE IV. 

THE HALF-MILE TO THE BRIG — NIGHT. 

(Loud thunder— lightning — wailing of wind 
and screams! Tarn's voice is heard in great 
fear:) 

**Wheugh! Rin, Meg! Rin!" 

(Meg bears him on — then stops as if blinded 
by a flash— loud thunder.) 

"Wow! Auld Nick is after me! Before— 
behind! Where will I go?" (Loud yells.) 
**Ough! The deevils arecomin', Meg. Get me 
hame!" 

(Loud groans are heard, and Tarn exclaims:) 
**Ow-o-o-o-w-ow! Hand! I swear!" And 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 229 

he does so in a marked, impressive voice, which 
trembles in his fear. 

''1 promise — no, 1 swear — Fll no go out an 
drink again! Dommed if I doT' (This is an- 
swered by demoniac laughter, yells, and peals 
of thunder.) 

''A-a-gh! Rin, Meg! Rin! The brig! The 
brig- They dare na cross the centre o' the 
stream!'' 

(Meg bears him oflP— followed by the carles, 
carlines and devils. As they brandish their 
torches and give a series of unearthly yells, 
Burns, as a warlock, in their midst, stands 
laughing in the road, and cries:) 

**Good! Once again!" 

(And all exclaim:) 

** Heigh! There they go !" 

**His soul is out of his body — skirl!" cries 
Burns. 

**Skirl, like the deevil! Follow me!" cries 
Willie. 

(The witches and the dancers shout:) 

•*Hi! hi! We're after ye! Quick to the 
brig!" 

**Some on the road and some below!" 

**Look out for Willie when he falls!" says 
Robert. 

And Willie— all excitement now— looks like 



230 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

auld Nick, and waves his torch and wildly 
shouts: 

** Skirl, like auld Cloutie, skirl! Yese get yer 
farin% Tarn O'Shanter, noo!" 

'*Aye! Aye! and you, too!" Robert calls. 
•*OntotheBrigo' Doon!" 

(And amid the thunder, lightning and wild 
cries they all rush down the road.) 



SCENE V. 

THE BKIG O' DOON AND RUNNING RIVER — NIGHT. 

(Thunder and lightning continue — blended 
with demoniac yells and the clattering gallop 
of Meg. Witches' cries and loud singing heard.) 

Air — *' McGregor's Gathering." 
Tenors— "Follow! follow! follow! follow on!'' 
Basses— "Halloo! halloo! hallo-oo-ooh !" 

Chorus. 

"Tho' he hie for his hame or he hide in the night, 
Like an uncanny spirit he's taken his flight; 
But the warlocks and witches shall follow him on. 
Singing Dool for his soul when his spirit is gone!" 

(Witches, in minor key:) 

"For the hameless! 
Shameless— drunken one!" 
All— "Then follow! follow! follow! follow on!" 
Bass— " Halloo ! halloo! halloo-o-o-o-ou!'* 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 231 

(Then a high screaming note above the rest:) 

'He'll no cross the Brig, for the Demon of Evil 
Gives his breath to the winds and his flesh to thedeevil. 
And this night from his breast must barleycorn sever 
Or O'Shanter in spirit shall wander forever!" 

(As this prophetic warning cry rings through 
the night, Meg's gallop is heard — faster and 
faster — approaching the brig.) 

(Tarn's voice in alarm, urging her on): 

** Heigh! come, ye deevils! Gae it, Meg! 
Ha! ha! Gee lang! The brig! The brig!" 

(Unearthly screams and terrific thunder sud- 
denly break forth, and, amid blinding flashes, 
Meg — bearing the defiant but awestruck Tam 
— dashes on the bridge — followed by the devils 
— half surrounding her.) 

"Grab her tail!" shouts Willie. 

*'Go find your own!" the demons cry, as they 
throw him over into the river. 

(Madge seizes Meg by the tail. It comes oflF 
in her hands. Fearful yells. Tam laughs and 
escapes, amid the cries of the devils below and 
the warlocks in pursuit. Witches and spirits 
are seen flying through the air, as the lightning 
illuminates the scene, and shows Burns stand- 
ing in picture in the centre of the brig.) 

^i: * ^ :j: * :jJ :{: 

Donald paused— his second task was done. 



232 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

His friends within the house took up the sym- 
pathetic voice without and thundered their ap- 
plause. The Pilgrim's story did not seem ro- 
mance, but all the characters and incidents 
were real. The cause, the manner and the 
treatment of the theme were so entirely new 
that they forgave all other things and hailed 
with true delight this realistic version of the 
ride. 

'* Hurrah for Tam!" they cried, ** and Robert 
Burns! and his good friend and ours!" 

The minister returned the Pilgrim's thanks; 
and then *'Good-night! Good-night!" and shak- 
ing hands— and wraps against the rain, and 
parting for their homes. 

Outside, the elements accorded with the 
stormy scenes along the road to Doon — a dupli- 
cation of the thunder and the lightning's flash 
— and, suddenly a resounding oath — far worse 
than Tam O'Shanter swore— when Drawback 
found his mules were stalled and his old wagon 
anchored to a tree. 

*'That's Sandy Ramsey's work," he said 
—then, as the thunder rolled, he uttered a de- 
nouncing d — which, as it echoed back from 
Indian Hill, reverberated an unending string of 
d — 's of every sound and style. 

From up the road a laugh came answering 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 233 

him — a sort of smile for smile — which, as the 
people recognized it Sandy's voice, they all 
took up, until the Drawback oaths were drowned 
and all the ghostly visitants of Alloway seemed 
still on Tam O'Shanter's track. 



END PART SECOND. 



234 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



PART THIRD. 

November's night. The earth seems still. 
The moon looks cold. Who heeds? Blow 
winds without, and whispers of approaching 
winter come! 

Inside the house the cheery fire. Out in the 
barn all living things are sheltered from the 
cold, and in the schoolhouse once again old 
friends have met, and honest **neighbors neigh- 
bors greet." The shutters closed—the lights 
turned up— schoolmaster, minister, and all the 
goodly company warm outstretched hands at 
open grate; but hearts within need only the re- 
vivifying fire which friendly greetings help 
to keep alive. 

Drawback has walked this time. The mules 
require a rest and so does he, and Sandy Ram- 
sey knows the reason why. Lindsay too, might 
tell a tale; but he says more with quiet looks 
than most men speak. 

How pretty the young girls look in their new 
hoods, and Tam O'Shanter caps and shepherd 
plaids, while Mrs. Stuart's iron-gray hair is 
smoothed beneath a modest bonnet trimmed 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 235 

with jet, and her bent body's wrapped in a good 
Paisley shawl. 

Upon the walls the decorations now are tinted 
autumn leaves, with branches of red-beaded 
alders showing bright between; and, under- 
neath Burns's picture, knots of faded flowers— 
the last remembrance of the dying year. 

After opening music, the schoolmaster leads 
off with more of his peculiar poetry — for such 
his quaintly worded rhymes might well be 
called— with all their grotesque thoughts and 
jingling points, alliterations and the like, all 
natural to the man, and all delivered with the 
purpose that his scholars might dissect the 
meaning and decipher the intent. 

The ladies followed— then mixed voices in a 
madrigal, without accompaniment, but with a 
fine effect, and then ** *The Great Dissolving 
Views!' Something entirely new — pamted by 
the oldest masters in the West — and now pre- 
sented, for the first time, before the ignorant 
people of the East. Professor Kamsey , lecturer 
and discoverer; assisted by the celebrated 
Father Lindsay, the manipulator of the slides!" 

At this announcement, professor and assist- 
ant stepped jauntily upon the platform, and 
went behind a large white sheet which had been 
stretched across the room behind the speaker's 



236 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

chair. There was a pause, during which some- 
thing was heard to move— then Sandy reap- 
peared, holding in his hand a billiard cue, and 
looking so awkward and so angular it was im- 
possible to say which was the stick. But he 
was the professor now, and acted, in his way, 
what he professed to be. 

**Put out the lights!" he said, **an' let in all 
the darkness that ye can. That's right," he 
said, when all things visible had vanished. 
**Now, ye see, I have here a white sheet, but 
jest ye wait an' ye'll see more. A light, ye see ; 
now jest ye look!" 

At this a big round moon of light was pro- 
jected from the lamp behind. 

*'Ha! ha!" said the professor, **what ye see 
is nothing yet — but when ye hear what's comin' 
yer eyes will stick out as big an' round as what 
ye see here now. These are the great Areege- 
nal Dissolvin' Views! I got 'em in a trade 
when travelin' with McShaw. I got away an' 
brought the pecters wi' me. This is the way o' 
that. Ye see it is a big lantern an' a lot o' 
slides, an', workin' it, we used to slide in an' 
out o' towns. One time we both got stuck an' 
found ourselves an' all these priceless pecters 
in a little upstair room, an' a leery landlord 
watchin' us below. We owed him eight days' 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 237 

board. Well, one would watch while th' other 
hunted up a friend, or countryman to help us 
out. One night I had an angel all secured — 
a canny Scot who'd heeredo' th' McShaw's, an' 
who said * Yes, he'd help us,' an' he did! I 
brought him to McShaw, an' we three had a 
talk. *Yes, yes,' he said, *ril fix ye up, or 
guarantee to help ye down.' I blessed him, an' 
McShaw fell upon his knees (the only time 
he ever did in all his life) an' fairly wept for 

joy. 

*' *Yes, yes— depend on me,' the angel said, 
*for I've been there mesel', an' I'll jest tell ye 
what ye'll do.' 

** *Yes, yes,' I said, *yes, yes;' and'Brither, 
ye're jest a blessin',' said McShaw. 

"Weel— weel." 

*' *Weel, then,' the brither said, *now I'll jest 
tell ye what ye'll do.' 

'* *Yes — yes — what? what?' we begged, as we 
both wrung his hands, an' heart, an' leestened 
for the jinglin' siller he had brought. 

•* Well— well!" 

** *Weel, then,' he said, as slowly an' as 
quietly as a thenkin' judge, *ye have some 
gude things in the trunk?' 

** *Paintin's an' pecters,' we both said, *worth 
thousands ef we only had 'em out, an' when the 



288 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

sax teen dollars are paid» we'll give a show an' 
pay ye back again.' 

** 'Eh— that's a' right,' he said, 'now I'll jest 
tell ye what ye'll do— ye'll go down quietly an' 
buy a piece o' streeng; an' then ye'll come back 
here; an' then ye'll take the streeng an' tie it 
to the handle o' your trunk; an' then ye'll take 
it ower to the windy there ; an' then ye'll raise it 
up— an' let the trunk oot by the streeng — an* 
then'— McShaw an' I exchanged a glance— an' 
he was nearly faintin' on the floor— but I bore 
up as I were overjoyed. *Yes, hush!' I said, 
'don't make a noise! Hush!' an' I went down 
an' asked the landlord for a rope. 'What for?' 
says he. 'To let something out o' the windy,' 
says I, jest eenocent. *0h! ah!' says he, jest 
eenocent himself; 'don't scratch the painu oflP 
and don't make a noise.' Then I went back an' 
raised the windy, an' we took that piece o' 
streeng an' tied one end o' it to the bed, an' 
t'other we tied round the angel's waist and let 
him slide. He yelled out 'Stop!' but that was 
beezness which the landlord 'tended to, for he 
nabbed him, an' held him fast, so he couldn't 
get away, while I got oflP with the trunk and 
went on further West. McShaw is oot there 
yet! 

"The first pecter is Nebucoodnazar eatin' 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 239 

grass! I think that's what McShaw is doin' 
at the present time. Observe he's on his hands 
an' knees sbowin' how true it is to nateer — for 
that's the vera pasheeshen McShaw had the 
night he thought the canny Scot would pay the 
eight days' board! 

'*Next is Daniel slay in' the lions wi' one o' 
the jaw-bones o' Deacon Drawback's mules. I 
don't swear to that; but Drawback, deacon as 
he is, will swear to ony thing! 

*'Here is the head o' Herod ridin' on a charger 
— no, that's Goliar slayin' David wi' a small gin- 
sling! That fellow Lindsay's mexen up the 
slides. Thes is the— what is thes? the"— and 
now the views began to be obscure. A serious 
picture would appear, but no sooner was the 
professor in the midst of his intelligent descrip- 
tion than it changed to the grotesque. Clowns' 
heads appeared on Shakspeare's shoulders, and 
Punch bobbed up and winked his eye— or put 
bis thumb up to his nose— then, as the people 
laughed, the learned professor grew enraged, 
and finally cried, '*Hold on!" and rushed in- 
side; and then there w^as a scuffling noise and 
something was upset! Then cries of ''Help!" 
and '*Fire!" for now there was no lack of light 
— the sheet was all ablaze, and as it burned 
away, Sandy and Lindsay were discovered on 



240 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

the floor among the slides, with Sandy's auburn 
whiskers, like his eyes, all fire ! Luckily Draw- 
back seized the water-pail and soused the two 
professors who, when the lights turned up 
again, emerged two soaking wrecks, and, like 
the vanished pecters, they too, were dissolved! 

As Sandy dripped and dried out by the fire, 
he yelled at Drawback: **Look ye here! Next 
time ye put oot fire in winter time, ye'll warm 
your water first r^ 

These follies set aside — when order was re- 
stored — Donald Stuart rose, continuing his 
story, in which the interest was intense the 
moment he began. 

BONNIE BOON. 



Part Third. 



Time: — Autumn, Hallowe' en. 



"When ripened fields and azure skies 
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys 

And lonel}^ stalk 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 
In pensive walk!" 

SCENE I. 

THE BAEN AT MOSSGIEL. 

(The interior threshing floor of a Scotch barn. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 241 

Hay and rye on bays and mows. Flooring of 
rye down. Large cocks of straw and hay at 
back. Large doors of barn, which, when 
opened show gloomy landscape and ricks and 
stacks of grain and hay — also sheep lying in 
shelter near doors. Gilbert and Hughoc are 
seen threshing. Hughoc whistling ** A Highland 
Lad," to which tune they keep time with their 
flails. After going over the floor once, they stop 
to turn the straw, and Gilbert speaks:) 

**It's nearly dark and we are not yet done. 
We've got to hurry now." (They resume their 
work). **Rob will be late. But hark! I hear 
the horses coming home." (Noise of approach- 
ing team is heard.) 

**He is here. Hughoc, run and help him with 
the plough." (Hughoc puts down straw and goes 
to door. Gilbert places sheaf at back and goes 
to Hughoc, helping him to open the great doors 
of the barn. As they swing back, Robert ap- 
pears in realistic picture.) 

*' Burns at the Plough,*' 

**Is a' weel, Rab?" Gilbert asks. 

** Aye," Robert answers. **But Fll plough na 
mair — the frost is in the ground for winter now. 
Ah, but it's been a tiresome day!" 

(Hughoc takes the horses off. Robert comes 
into the barn. He hangs up his coat and cap— 



^4^ ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

takes flail from hook and goes to threshing. 
Gilbert tries to stop him.) 

'*Nay, brother," Gilbert says. 

**Nae," replies Robert, **ril help ye oot!" 

(As Hughoc whistles **Comin' thro' the Rye," 
they keep time with the strokes of the flails — 
going over the flooring rapidly and ending with 
a bang — Robert hangs up the flails.) 

•*Thank Heaven!" says Gilbert, '*it's over." 

*'Are ye a-weary, Gilbert?" Robert asks. 

**rm tired to death; but we hae gotten a' th' 
rye." 

**Aye," Robert answers, **a' that the rattans 
ha' left m the straw." 

(He shakes some rips and binds sheaves as he 
talks. Gilbert helps and answers him :) 

'"Tis very poor; but the work is a' the same. 
It's hardly worth our trouble. There, Rab, sit 
now and rest— I'll flnish it." 

(They bind and move the loose straw.) 

**Ah!" Robert sighs, **I never feel it. Dinna 
mind me, brither, my thoughts are far away, 
and I must work to still the feelings of my 
heart." 

*'Robert, ye'll no complain, but weel I know 
your life is wasted here." 

"Nay— nay— 'tis naething. I maun do my 
part." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 243 

**Aye, as ye always have — more than all, and 
more than ever now since father died and left 
his sorrows wi' us." 

*'A-weel — it does seem hard. Goodby to 
dear old father. He may sleep in Alloway 
Kirkyard, in sight of our old home. The dead 
alone return where they belong, while we, un- 
happily, live on, to move from place to place, 
seeking good fortune which we never find." 

**'Tis strange, Robert. From the trials in the 
auld house where ye were born near Ayr, we 
found worse in Mount Oliphant. Worse still in 
Lochlea — where our father died — and here, in 
Mossgiel, where the sun ne'er seems to shine, 
misfortune, like a storm, is gathering all around 
us. 'Tis well we have you with us." 

**Nay, I think I am your fate! No place do I 
set foot, but weeds spring up and clouds shut 
out each ray of hope." 

**Brither, dinna say it! There's not a one o' 
us but knows your worth. Mother and sister 
shelter in your loving heart. You're never any- 
thing, dear Rob, but just our strong right arm 
and faithful friend." 

**Bat what good can I do? The more we 
work the poorer still we get. I'd better go." 

''No, Robert, no." 

** Maybe I'd earn a little somewhere else and 



244 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

send it back to you. There'd be one less to 
feed when I am gone, and maybe times will 
brighten, or the coming spring be better than 
the last." 

*'Kobert, we'd have no heart if you should 
leave us — on seven poor pounds a year you've 
lived — on eighteen pence a week you've not 
complained, but worked a' thro' long weary 
days on oaten meal alone. Kobin, we've shared 
the worst togither all these years — we'll share 
it still." 

*'Brither, you will not understand. It is not 
good or evil that may come to me I fear. It is 
not that — for if it were I'd never go away; but 
'tis the thought of others takes me." 

•*0f Jeannie?" 

**Aye — loving, trusting Jean Armour. Since 
Mary went away — or since she's dead — for she 
has not come back to me — Jeannie has come, 
despite ourselves, a solace in my heart. You 
know the rest. How we have loved— what she 
has been to me. To save her and to save my- 
self, there's nothing but to go away!" 

**Stay — and marry her." 

"I've offered it. Done all an honest man 
could do. Her father has denied me. We are 
disgraced togither!" 

**I can nae more advise ye, Rab, I know 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 245 

you've done a* that ye could— a' for the best." 

**An' that has brought us ill. Gilbert, I sor- 
row at the thought o' parting. I'll never find a 
hame or friends so gude. I love them — love ye 
all — an' dear auld Ayrshire too!" 

*'An' we love ye the same." 

**I feel it in my heart. There is a bond be- 
tween us never can be broken. I love my coun- 
try. It is her poverty that makes her great — 
our sufferings that make us strong. Scot- 
land ! Not a peasant on thy hills, who works 
in humbleness for daily bread, but is a king to 
thee!" 

** Robert, ye know what father said: *God 
crowns his head with blessings who works out 
his destiny with patient heart and willing 
-hands!' " 

''And his fate was to die in misery and loant. 
No more — I go." 

**Well, Robert, I would help ye if I could — 
God knows it— so do what ye will." 

"And what I must, but I'll no go till all the 
work is done. I'll stay and help ye through a' 
that, and then, auld home an' all ye hold that's 
dear to me — farewell!" 

*'And your share of the farm?" 

** Shall all be yours. I have no right to any- 
thing." 



246 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**And your book — the first edition of your 
verses, Eobert?" 

*'The first and last. The little I've received 
will pay some things we owe, and if what's left 
don't pay me out, from Greenock to Jamaica, 
I'll work my way. One song will haunt me as I 
go — one face — one heart — forever lost — my 
Highland Mary!" 

**And Jean? In other scenes— under that 
burning sun— you may forget her/' 

"Forget her! And if I could forget the one 
who'd loved and trusted me, I'd be by Heaven 
forgotten!" 

(During this Jean enters and stands listening.) 

'*Forget! There's not a slave that toils in 
burning fields, but looks towards wife and home 
with love! If I could e'er forget, I'd be a 
coward among men — more lowly than a slave!" 

(Jean advances and speaks his name.) 

"Robert!" 

**Jean! My loved and trusting Jean!" 

(Gilbert bows — and goes — leaving them 
alone.) 

"Forgive me, Robert, that I overheard. I 
love you all the better— if that's possible— ah, 
but the parting — that I cannot bear!" 

"My bonnie lass, don't speak of it." 

"I will not if you wish it. I will na speer nor 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 247 

speak o' anything; but, Robert, dinna leave 
me!" 

** Jeannie, trust me. I will do a' for the best." 

**rve trusted you wi' a' but life, and that is 
yours whenever you may ask it !" (She weeps.) 

*'No tears, my bonnie Jean, no tears." 

"Put on your coat, dear Robert, the night 
wind blows. Ye'll be cold." 

(She gets his coat and puts it on him. They 
sit. She leans her head on his breast.) 

**Where's Mallie, Rab?" she asks. 

**Dead in a ditch," he answers bitterly; **as 
would I were myself." 

** An' Where's the collie, Luath — where is he?" 

**They killed him on the night before poor 
father died. Harm only seems to come to those 
who love me." 

**Then let harm come to me," Jeannie replies, 
**if I could do you good. Are you cold 
now?" 

'* Ne'er mind. I seldom feel it, love. How 
came you here?" 

**I could not stay away — tvomen like 1 am 
never can, Naething but death should part the 
ones who love." 

"Not even that! Oh, Jeannie, would I had 
died before we met, or ever I had wronged ye 
wi' my love!" 



248 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Nay— -say not so— better death wi' you than 
a' the world without ye! Ye'll nae go?" 

**I canna answer. It tears my vera heart!" 
(He rises.) "Oh, Scotland! home of all I love 
and all that holds me dear— how can I ever 
leave ye?" 

**Ye will na— nay, ye canna go! It's getting 
dark. Ye could na go to-night. It's Hallow- 
e'en. Your friends will a' be here, and ere 
to-morrow, God willgie me ane o' these to help 
persuade ye!" 

"Hush!" says Eobert sadly; "'if Heaven can 
forget, I think I am forgotten ! No more— go 
join our frien's. I've not the heart to see them !" 

"But ye canna avoid them now. It's Hal- 
lowe'en!" 

**I know— I know— it's growing dark, the 
'curlers quat their play' — the evening sports 
begin— but I canna be there!" 

**Nae— for the night — for a' our frien's!" 

'*No need for Hallowe'en to tell my fate—noT 
show the one I love. Go in." (He releases 
her hands and kisses them.) 

*'Nae, Robin, an' ye will nae come — I'll bring 
them a' to you." 

**One kiss, dear Jeannie— go!" (He kisses 
her.) 

**Twa," she answers, **ane for me." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 249 

"Anither," Robert says, **that's for US baith." 

**That is for ye/' poor Jeannie says, "an* this 

for me— an' a'!" (She goes out of the great 

doors— Robert watching her depart— then 

turns.) 

**Now a' the past come haunt me as ye may. 
I have deserved it a'— deserved to be forgotten! 
My Jean! I would na wrong ye— but, Mary, 
come ye now — and whether frae the banks o' 
Ayr or whether ye look down from Heaven- 
heap your reproaches on my head — but do not 
a' forget me!" (He takes his cap and a stick 
and goes out singing sorrowfully as he goes.) 

** Ye banks an' braes o' Bonnie Doon 
How can ye bloom sae fresh an' fair 
How can ye chant ye little birds, 
And I sae weary fu' o' care?" 

(As he disappears a chorus of merry voices is 
heard — first in the distance — then approaching 
nearer and nearer. ) 

Women — "Oh, whistle an* I'll come to ye, my lad ! 
Ob, whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad ! 
The* faither an' mitber, an' a' should gae 

mad — 
Oh, whistle an' I'll come to ye, my lad!" 

Men — "Then warily tent when ye come to court me; 
And come na unless the back yett be agee. 
Syne up the back style an' let naebody see! 
An' look as ye were na lookin' for me!" 



250 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Women — **Then whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad!" 

(Men all whistle the line to the tune.) 
Women— "Tho' faither an' mither an' a' should gae 
mad—" 

(Men all whistle the line.) 

(Chorus — All repeat, girls sing, men whistle.) 

(Davie, Tarn, Boys, Katy, Bessie, Elfie, Nan- 
nie, Chloris, Sylvie, Clarinda, lasses, all in line, 
hand in hand, at finish of song, look in the barn 
— pause.) 

(Then together they cry:) **Boo-oo! Boo-oo- 
on!" 

"Naebody answers," says Bess. (Pauses.) 
**Wha's gaen' roun' my house this time o' 
night?" 

*'Auld bluidy Na' un!" says Elfie, in a hollow 
voice. 

**What does he want?" asks Davie. 

*'A gude fot sheep!" says Katy, ruefully. 

"Fat?" says Tarn. ** Everything's poor around 
here — like the master. Bring him out! 
Hulloo!" (A pause.) 

**He's gone," says Davie; **jet Jeannie said 
we'd find him here!" 

**A-weel," says Tarn, **as it's no man's barn 
we'll tak' possession!" (They all go in and 
look about.) 

"See," says Davie. "They've been threshing 
the rye!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 251 

**Rye?" says Tam, **dinna mention it ! Tread 
it down! Tread it down, or it'll rise again! 
There! There! Fll tread ye out! Fll eat ye 
up; but dinna' ye say dreenk to me, ye deevil 
ye!" 

*'Ha! ha!'' (All laugh.) "Ah, Tam's 
afraid." 

** Aye, laugh! but an' ye'd seen Auld Nick, 
as I have — ye'd a' be sae scorehin' hot naething 
but water would save ye!" 

(All laugh.) *'To the kail yard, now-— to the 
kailyard!" (They all cry as they join hands 
in his.) 

**Kail!" says Tam, **ril pull me stump if 
maukin's left ane o' them stand!" 

Men — "Come into the kail yard, lassie, come!" 
Women — ** We gae into the kail yard green." 
Men — "An' ye* 11 a* pu' your true love up." 
Women — "Our lovers in the kail yard green." 

(As they repeat together, they go oflP singing 
in line.) 

(Jeannie and Gilbert, bearing a lantern, enter 
the barn. Jean pauses and calls:) 

**Robert! Robert! Oh, Eobin, come— we're 
waiting at the house." 

**Aye," says Gilbert, **the buttered sowens 
are ready, Rab, come in." 



252 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

(Jean looks about, as Gilbert holds the lan- 
tern — she is agitated and alarmed.) 

**Not here! Not gone! Nae — though he's 
taken his coat, his plaid is there — Kobin!" 

(As they stand listening — chorus is heard in 
the garden.) 

Chokus — **An' ye'll a' pull your true love up, 
And wander in the kail yard green." 

"Ah," says Gilbert, **he's with the others, 
trying for their fortunes and their love. Come 
wi' me, Jeannie— -Rab's na' far awa'!" 

(As they go, all the others return. Each 
draws three oat straws, and compares them with 
others, amid loud laughter— Tam holds up a 
runt of kail.) 

'*Look at the runt o' kail I pulled. There's 
naething on it. It's a stump like auld Meg's 
tail!" (All laugh.) "If that's the kind o' a 
wife I'm to get I'll keep the ane I've got; she's 
better than a runt!" 

"Ah, Tam," says Davie, "yer wife's the only 
ane ye'll get!" 

"She's the only ane o' the kind I want!" 

"Take that!" says Katy— beating him— "ye 
ne'er-do-weel!" 

(Tam runs out of the door, then looks in again 
and leers at Katy.) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 253 

**Runty stump, can I come in?" 

**A-weel/* says Katy, **as ye're sworn to be a 
sober man, ye may, an' find a welcome too. 
Come to my arms!" 

**We're a' right noo," says Tam; **twa daisies 
on ane stem!" 

**It's sweet seemplecity !" says Katy. 

**An' Scotch sarcasm," says Tam. 

**Try the so win," cries auld Elfie. 

**Hempseed, hempseed, I saw thee," cry all. 

**Hemp — hemp-hi-hemp what?" asks Tam. 

* * This is it, ' ' says Davie, explaining ; * ' y e come 
into the barn alone!" 

**Na," Elfie calls, **outside! outside!" And all 
repeat, * * Outside ! Outside !" 

**Alane?" asks Tam, with a queer look. 

**Aye, outside— alane!" 

"Nae, Auld Nick'll tak' me if I do! I mind 
the night outside o' Alloway Kirk. Deil tak' 
the outside ! Th' inside's gude enough for me !" 

**But that's the way o' it," says Davie. 

** Aye, aye," says Tam, with a knowing wink. 
**1 ken the way o' it, ne'er fear me! The only 
time A* gae outside alane to-night is when ye a' 
gae wf me!'' 

**Weel," says Davie, **hae yer waus. We'll 
a' gae out an' then come in an' saw it i' th' 
barn." 



254 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"I saw it on the road," says Tarn. **It never 
left me till the Brig o' Doon!" 

**Ye hae nae seen 'em sin' syne, Tam?" asks 
Katy. 

**Nae. They're a' gane where they belang," 
(pointing down). 

**Nor any serpents, Tam?" 

"Deilaane! A'U keep ma boots hereafter, 
formysel'." (Alllaagh.) 

•*This is the way o' it," says Davie. 

Chorus. 
Men — " Hempseed, hempseed, I saw thee! 

Let him who loves or thinks o' m©.'* 
Women— "Come after me an' pu' me! 

Hempseed, hempseed, I saw thee.** 
Men— *' Let any lass who thinks o' me," 
Women — **Come to thy arms an' love thee!" 

*' And now," says Davie, **all outside, an' then 
a lassie first." 

**An' I'll come wi' her," says Tam. 

'*Nay, ye'll not," says Katy. 

(And then all cry:) ** Alone!" ** Alone!" 

'*It'll na be alone wi' me!" says Tam. ''A'U 
come when yer alane thegitherT' 

(All go outside, and after a pause, Bessie en- 
ters and advances to the centre of the threshing- 
floor, and imitates the sowing of the hemp — 
then says in marked manner:) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 255 

"Hempseed, hempseed, I saw thee! 
Let him who loves or thinks o* me 
Come after me an' pu' me!" 

(At third time, Gilbert enters at the back, 
takes her in his arms, kisses her and goes off. 
Davie is next, repeating the same words, and 
is met by a lassie, and when he retires, Sylvie, 
the second girl— of a country sort — advances, 
tremblingly, and speaks in a low voice.) 

(Tam advances to kiss her, but is met by 
Katy, who drives him off. Sylvie repeats, but 
no one responds, and she goes oflP crying very 
loudly.) 

(Tam enters— shaking and looking about.) 

**Dom but I wonder is auld Cloutie under the 
straw! Weel — here goes! I wish auld Meg 
was here to ride me hame! Hemp — Hi, but I 
teel it around ma neck! There's na breedge 
to cross this time. A- weel! Hem — hemp! 
Hempseed! hempseed! I saw thee!— Dom but 
I hear a croonin' round the corner o' the barn. 
The deil is in it sure! — Hempseed! hempseed, 
I saw thee!" 

(Low groans are heard outside.) **Ah! ah! 
Hand on! hand on! Hand! hand! Fll swear I 
never! I hae nae tasted a drop sin I rode over 
the Doon! Hand, Mr, Deevil — hand!'* (Look- 
ing out.) **Iwant the ane that loves me— or 



256 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

thinks ony thing aboot me to come in here 
queeck — an' pu' me oot o' this ! An' Auld Nick 
can pu' me after!" (Loud groans.) 

(Continued while Katy steals in behind him 
and raises a white sheet above him on a stick. 
He groans and falls and yells. She raises him 
and he runs out of the barn with his coat tails 
over his head.) 

(The voices of the others are heard going away, 
singing:) 

"In their hauDts on Hallowe'en, 
Spirits all from sleep awaken, 
And, where love has faithless been, 
Love itself is all forsaken !*' 

(As the voices die out, distant strains of ** Auld 
Lang Syne"— played by the people in the house 
— during which no other sounds are heard. 
Mary Campbell — leaning on the arm of Madge 
— pale and weary, looks in the open door of the 
barn. After a pause, as if in great disappoint- 
ment, she speaks:) 

"And na one here?" 

**Nae, not a living soul," answers poor Madge. 

*• And not within the house?" asks Mary, with 
a troubled look. 

**Nae, I glinted through ilk window; but he 
was nae there. Yet a' the crowd o' kintra 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 257 

folks were sittin', talkin' by the ingle-side an' 
showed plain as the light." 

**Hark!" says Mary, as she stands and lis- 
tens, with a look of deepest sorrow on her pale, 
worn face. *'Do you hear no one?" 

(Distant sounds of laughing are heard in the 
house. ) 

** There's nane sae happy as the careless 
poor," says Madge, as she listens. 

*'It's weel for us," says Mary, **they are there. 
Vd only see my ain dear Robert by himself!" 

**Ah, gude frien', ye are tired!" says bonnie 
Madge. 

**And ye, gude girl," Mary answers her. 
"We've walked all day!" 

"Weel, then, come to the house," poor Madge 
replies. "I'll knock an' ask for shelter an' a 
place to rest, an' weel ye ken the string is out 
in every Scottish home!" 

"I know, I know, dear Madge; but not till I 
see him. It's growing darker. Let's go in." 

"I'm no afraid," says Madge. "There's na 
tyke, or he'd bark. Haud! Somethin' breath- 
in'!" (Gropes about.) "It's the sheep — nae 
harm. Come in here. There's hay an' straw — 
sit down." (They enter the barn.) 

"Ah!" Mary says; ''I'm rested by the place 
where he has been. How peaceful and how 



258 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

sweet. I smell the breath o' gowans an' the 
grass — the sweeter that they're dead. Here 
is the straw he's threshed, and here his plaid !" 
(Mary presses it to her lips and kisses it.) 
**0h, Robert darling, though my heart is full 
o' sad forebodings and I'm weary unto death 
—when ye'll come a' is weel! Your love will be 
the same, and mine is yours forever!" 

(The first gleams of the rising moon are seen. 
Jeannie returns and enters the open doors at 
the back, as if waiting for Robert. She looks 
about.) 

**Robert— no come back yet," she says. 
"Who's there?" (She sees Mary and Madge.) 
"Strange women! and in such a place!" | 

(Mary stands gazing at Jean, but Madge re- 
plies:) 
"Are ye no strange to us— an' ye are here?" 
"But you — at such an hour alone!" says Jean 
"She's not alone!" says Madge. "Ye're a 
agley! Dinna ye see me here?" 
"And who are you?" asks Jean. , 

"I'm only just her frien'," Madge answers,! 
"but I'll steck like a thestle to a sheepit's 
back!" 
"I'll call," says Jeannie, as she starts to go. j 
"Stay!" Mary cries, and interposes herself 
between her rival and the door. "Stay!" she 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 259 

echoes— and then continues with marked em- 
phasis: 

"Though we have never met, I've seen your 
face before. Your name?" 

**Why should I fear to tell it. I am Jean 
Armour!" 

(Mary stands as if transfixed and gazes in her 
face—and then says slowly:) 

**Aye, *Bonnie Jean!' Your name is written 
oft by him — but you come in a dream ! A wo- 
man with a bonnie face and dark brown hair— 
Fve seen them a' these sorry days!" 

*'Whatdoyemean?" 

**I see ye now," says Mary, in the same 
marked tone, her eyes still fixed upon her. 
'* You're Jean Armour! An' you have come be- 
tween us!" 

"What words are these?" cries Jean. "Wo- 
man, who are you?" 

''My name is Mary Campbell!'' 

"Nae — nae — it canna be! He thinks ye dead! 
Your name he murmurs in his sleep. He loves 
ye still! But ye will ne'er come back to him !" 

"I come to seek him here!" 

"You come to see ray Robert'" 

"Aye," says Mary, defiantly and solemnly. 
"I come to see my honored, faithful lover, 
Robert Burns! Don't question me or stay me 



260 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

— the hour is late — my time is short. Say, is 
he here?" 

**He*s not," replies the now bewildered Jean. 
**An' if he were " 

"No matter," Mary says, **ril seek him out! 
and look once more upon his face, though that 
look be my last!" 

"Nae, nae," cries Jean; **for Heaven's 
love " 

**Nae," Mary answers, **none shall part me 
frae the man I love! Woman, whoe'er you may 
be — or whate'er ye are — stand back!" 

(Jean suddenly passes her and rushes to the 
door:) 

**Nae, then," she cries, **stand ye! Ye shall 
nae pass to him who's a' to me!" 

'*To you, woman!" 

* Aye! Oh, forgive me!" cries poor Jean. 

'Strike me! Humble me— or kill me! I will 

na' murmur nor complain — but leave me 

Robert's love! Here, on my knees, 1 beg and 

ask it of ye!" 

''I dinna understand ye !" cries Mary in amaze. 

**0h, gude heart," Jean replies, **feel for me, 
an' spare him too ! You've come too late to part 
us now. You've come too late!'' 

**What do you mean?" asks Mary, in a pity- 
ing tone. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 261 

*'Benddown your ear to listen," Jean replies. 

(Both look at Madge who, during this has 
stood in sorrowing wonder looking on. Jean 
points to her and speaks:) 

**Let her gae awa'— I canna* look ye either in 
the face— soft— let me whisper." 

(She whispers in Mary's ear, who bends down 
fco her- and then hides her face in her hands.) 

(Mary starts with a groan of anguish.) 

• * 0-oh ! My God ! Robert ! Have I lost ye? 
Have I come too late? Oh, have I come too 
late?" 

*'Nay," says poor Jean; ''tread upon me that 
I've come between, and kill me that I've made 
ye suffer!" 

**0h, Robert! Robert! Robert!" bursts from 
-Mary's heart. 

(Jean, now touched by her grief, approaches 
her.) 

**Nay now, 'tis I must pity ye! Ye're sad an' 
pale. Ye've suffered more than I ha' done, an' 
now I am the cause o' more." 

*'0h!" Mary cries in bitterest grief. **My 
dream! My dream! My dream!" 

"Nae, gude heart, dinna sorrow," Jean says 
soothingly. Blame me for a', but, oh, I could 
na' help the love I bore him!" 

(Mary bursts into a floodof tears, crying:) 



Ji62 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**0h, Heaven help me now!" 

**Nae — nae — ye are ill," says Jeannie, ten- 
derly. **Come in, wi' me — ye're cauld an trem- 
blin'." (She puts Robert's plaid about her. 
Mary kisses it again and again. Madge tries to 
comfort her.) 

"Nay," Mary says with resolution, **it is 
naething. I'm nae very well— but I'll no trouble 
you— I'll go— I'll go!" 

(Madge leads her a few steps— she falters and 
cries out:) 

"But oh, my broken heart!" 

"Mary, my sister! Forgive me!" Jeannie 
cries. 

"For his sake, aye!" Mary faintly answers. 
"And tell him I forgive him, too!" (She turns 
and falls prostrate on the straw.) 

"Great Heaven! She's ill!" cries Jeannie, 
rushing to her aid. 

"Aye!" Madge exclaims, as she caresses her. 
"She's a' fey an' like to die!" 

"Don't raise her head," cries Jean. "There's 
water here!" (She gets it from stoup by well.) 

"Mary — gude heart — speak to me!" 

"Oh! She would come in spite o' me!" cries 
poor Madge, as she wrings her hands. 

"Let's take her in," says Jean. "The warmth 
will comfort her." 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 263 

**Nae," Mary says, recovering, ** don't let him 
know, ril bear it all!" 

*'Dear Mary, come into the house,'* pleads 
Jean. 

**Aye, darling, come," says Madge, support- 
ing her. 

**Nae— nae, I will na' take the place he's 
given to another! Come, Madge, we'll go!" (She 
tries to rise.) 

**But ye're na weel enough to walk." 

**Ye'll help me, Madge." (Takes her hand.) 
**An', if ye've ever been my frien', come wi' 
me now." (Tries to go.) 

(Jean tries to stop her.) 

**Nae," she says; "come in an' let me tend 
ye. Let me gae wi' ye. I'll work and strive 
and die to aid ye!" 

*'Nae," Mary answers sadly, **bonnie Jean, 
your place is here. 'Tis you must stay by 
him when I am gone! Promise ye will, my 
sister!" 

**Yes. Oh, Mary, can ye e'er forgive me?" 

(Mary kisses her and then replies:) 

**No more. You knov/ my heart. Here." 
(She takes bundle from Madge— opens it, and 
takes out things as they kneel on the floor.) 

**Here is his first book, wi' his songs, and 
your name wi' the rest. I thought to give it 



364 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

him myself, but now " (She gives the book 

to Jean.) '^This letter is frae Dr. Blackie wi' 
the ane that Dr. Blacklock wrote to him. It is 
for Kobert. He will go to Edinboro." 

"Go!" cries Jean. 

**Aye! an' he walk he'll go," Mary replies; 
**for fame and honor wait him!" 

**Robert!" 

'*Tell him a' this. 'Twas the gude news I 
came to tell, but now ye'll do it for me. Show 
him the page I marked. Be faithful to him to 
the last— gentle an' kind I know ye will be- 
but promise me, upon your word, ye tvill nae 
tell him that ye saw me here!'' 

*'I must. I couldna' hand ma peace!" 

*'For my sake— by his love — no word. This 
wreath is frae the holly trees that grow by 
Ayr. Dear Robin knows the place. 1 made it 
as we came along, tvhen resting by the wayside. 
I thought to be the first to honor him and 

crown him wi' th' bays, but now " (She 

suddenly starts up, exclaiming passionately:) 
**Nae, nae, my God! No other hand than 
mine must place it on his head! No other arms 
than mine be clasped about his neck! No other 
voice than Mary's speak to him of love!" 

**Mary, stay here!" cries Jean. **And you, 
Madge, tend her till I come! Forgive me that I 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 265 

could forget. Love struggled in my breast — but 
now my duty's plain!" (She starts to go.) 

**Ye shall nae stir!" Mary cries. ** Madge, 
help me keep her here. Where would ye go?" 

**To seek for Robert, though he's hid in night 
and in the farthest field! For never till he 
knows your noble heart, shall Jeannie Armour 
speak of love again!" (Jeannie hurries out. 
Mary looks after her, then rushes back to 
Madge.) 

**Let'sgae! let's gae before she comes. Be- 
fore he — oh! let's gae!" 

**Where, Mary, where?" 

**Back to the Mauchline Inn, frae there re- 
turn to Ayr." 

**Dear Mary, ye can hardly walk!" 

**I must! I must! To Ayr! To Ayr! For 
I must take my lang, lang sleep o' th' banks o' 
that dear stream where, in the days lang syne, 
we wandered— telling o'er our love!" 

**0h, Mary! Mary!" (Madge bursts into 
tears.) 

^* The fatal fever lingers in my veins. This 
journey's helped it on. Oh, could I see him 
once again, I'd ask no more— but be repaid in 
this— that he is great at last and happy in an 
honest love!" 

**0h, Mary! Dinna greet like this!" 



266 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Nay— -all is best. To-morrow I'll gae back, 
and when I'm dead " 

**0h, Mary, darling, only friend!" 

"When I am gone send word to him and lay 
me where the gowans spring and heather 
blooms — where Doon and Ayr will murmur of 
me, and where he'll sometimes sing one sor- 
rowing song for her, who even when she's dead, 
will speak o' love for him!" 

(Madge listens — then runs to door and looks 
out.) 

"He's comin'! Mistress — yonder see! She 
has nae found him. He's alone!" 

"Alone!" (A faint tinge of moon-rise shows.) 

"Stay — Mary— only speak to him. He's sad 
wi' thoughts o' thee!" 

"Hush! Hush! It may not be!" (Taking 
Madge and leaving the door.) ''Our happiness 
is past, and only as a wraith, or in a dream, can 
Mary Campbell ever cross his vision more, ^^ 

(They retire slowly into the dark corner of 
fche barn. In the house, music of "Kobin Adair" 
is played— and is faintly heard. Robert 
enters, wrapt in thought. He stands lean- 
ing by the door, and looking out, his cap in 
his hand. The moon appears, rising slowly, 
during scene. Robert speaks:) 

"Mary, my ain, why come ye not again? 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 267 

Where are ye now? I see ye by the braes o' 
Ayr, where last we met, there where we passed 
one day of parting love, then said farewell for- 
ever! Mary, the summer's days are done and 
winter's breath has withered all the fields— and 
yet, although you pledged your word, you come 
not back to me. Nay, then, I know the worst. 
The frost that touched the flower's bloom has 
laid ye dead before it." (He comes to the 
middle of the floor and reclines on the straw.) 

**0, pale, pale now those rosy lips 
I aft hae kissed so fondly 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
That dwelt on me sae kindly, 
And mouldering now in silent dust 
The heart that lo'ed me dearly ; 
But still within my bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary!'* 

(He rises and takes a wecht, and filling it with 
the threshed rye, advances centre.) 

** There's something in my heart that will not 
down. Something that speaks of her that's 
gone. I feel — wherever she may be— cold in 
the earth or in that distant Heaven — that she is 
near me still. Oh, spirit of the loved one lost — 
come back to me! Come back! If the dead 
ever hear or know what passes on the earth — 
come back! Nay, I maun call in vain! But 



268 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

yet I'll try the spell. 'Tis Hallowe'en— and I'll 

let down the corn against the wind — mortal or 

spirit, come!" (He raises the wecht and pours 

the corn, saying:) 

** As the corn fa's sae may I fa' 
If I dinna love the one who comes to me." 

(At the third time the figure of Mary Camp- 
bell, in white dress, and deadly pale, appears 
in the centre of the barn, and gazing on him 
with fixed eyes, passes noiselessly away. 
Robert stands, transfixed, until she vanishes, 
and then cries out in frenzy:) 

*'Her wraith! her wraith! her wraith! My 
God! Mary!" 
(He screams and falls senseless on the floor. 
Mary— returning — rushes to him — kneels by his 
side and raises his head, which she places in 
her lap. Madge runs to aid her.) 

•*0h, Mary, shall I call for help?" 

•*No, not for the world. Some water frae the 
stoup. He'll soon be well." 

(Madge rushes for the water — which she 
brings.) 

"Here, darling, here!" 

**He is half crazed wi' work an' cold— give me 
the plaid." (Madge hands it— Mary takes the 
plaid and also her cloak, which she has re- 
moved to appear as apparition, and wraps it 




THE MUSE HAILS THE BARD. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 269 

about Robert, supporting him by the sheaves of 
rye, then says to Madge:) 

**rve seen him sae before. He'll be himself 
anon and tkink it all a dream.'' 

'*ril watch that nae one comes!'* 

**Aye! Aye! This scene is sacred to our- 
selves. 'Tis only for a moment and we're gone 
before he wakes. Gone! Gone! My God! for- 
ever!" (She kisses him. He partially awakes 
and murmurs to himself.) 

''Mary, my muse! My guiding star! The Coila 
of my dreams!'' 

**Ah!" Mary cries, as she rises, **I under- 
stand." (She takes the wreath, and standing 
behind him, speaks— as a spirit — these altered 
lines of **The Vision," during which music of 
** Bonnie Doon" is heard in the distance:) 

**A11 hail! my own inspired bard! 
In me thy native muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard — 

Thus poorly low — 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow ! 

"Then wear thou this"— the prayers I've said 

Rest like a blessing on thy head, 
"The polished leaves and berries red 
All rustling play — " 
Keep green my memory when dead 
And passed away!" 



270 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

(She places the wreath of holly on his head 
and slowly retires.) 

(The refrain of the Hallowe'en song is faintly 
heard, sung by the country people in the house. 
The air of '*Bonnie Doon" is continued, blend- 
ing with it, till the close.) 

CHORUS. 

In their haunts on Hallowe'en, 

Spirits all from sleep awaken, 
And where love has faithless been. 

Love itself is aye forsaken ! 
Love itself ! Love itself ! 
Love itself is aye forsaken ! 
******* 
The feeling tone in which the Pilgrim spoke — 
the anguish, sacrifice, the brave despair, which 
he had shado\?ved forth, came like a cadence at 
the close — a lingering note of sorrow seldom 
heard. It seemed a strain of that old, plaintive 
song which all the auditors in fancy heard com- 
ing from those who reveled in the house. They 
listened for a moment — breathless — waiting 
still some sign or sound— another word, a 
footfall— Jean's return— or Mary to come back, 
but nothing came. They only saw the minister 
stand up and raise his hands, and rising, they 
concealed their tears and the choked sighs that 
struggled to be free — and bowed before the 
prayer: 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 271 

*'0 God, in mercy keep thy children here and 
everywhere throughout the world. Console 
them in afflictions deep and dark — and give 
them love and constancy — and strength and 
faith— and peace and plenty now and ever- 
more!" 



END OF PART THIRD. 



■^:^% 



272 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



PART FOURTH. 

Now Nature sleeps. Wearied with all the 
varying changes of the passing year, she takes 
her rest and, though old Winter comes and 
stands upon the hills and howls all day till he 
is hoarse, he cannot waken her. 

Her flowered silken dress of spring — her sum- 
mer's gaudy robes of gold and green, and au- 
tumn's widow's weeds of sober hues she has 
put by, and now, disrobed, stripped bare— her 
jewels and her vesture given for the good of 
man— she seeks in tears her cheerless bed, 
beneath whose snowy covering her sorrows may 
be sacred till the night is passed. 

Rest, gentle mother, loving friend, and sleep 
in peace. From out thy generous bosom springs 
all that sustains, all that enriches man. Lef 
him who never thought of this, go live a single 
day without thy aid — then turn again in hum- 
bleness to thee ! 

Welcome, old friends, on this wild winter 
night ! Over unbroken roads and pathless wastes 
of snow the bond of fellowship and love has 
brought you to the schoolhouse once again— the 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 273 

last reunion of the year— the birthday of the 
poet Burns. 

Old Age has come — the good old minister and 
Mrs. Stuart with the rest, in reverence ^and re- 
spect. The boys and girls and younger folks 
for the romance and the love of all festivities 
like these. The men and women, as all men 
and women should, to stand by duty to the liv- 
ing and the dead at any hour, in any place. 

Turn up the lights. Stir up the fire. Let 
music sound a welcome and an inspiration for 
the scene. See where some loving hands have 
placed the laurel crown in memory of this day ! 
On every picture wreaths of holly hang, in 
honor of the great ones gone, and, garlanding 
the platform and the desk of Mr. Olds, great 
strings of prince's pine with winter-berries in- 
tertwined and glistening in the light. 

Come, schoolmaster, a glorious night for 
revelry inside. The storm without can't wait 
— nor can the passing hour — go on ! 

And faith there is a fine array — from tragedy 
in prose down to **The Living Pictures of the 
Times! Characters by the only living Sandy 
Ramsey, and Father Lindsay, the connecting 
link." Stand forth! 

** All right !" says Sandy, as he sticks his head 
above the sheet, and shows his face devoid of 



274 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

beard, and rolls his leery eye, at which all 
roar. 

**Notyet! go back!" cries the schoolmaster. 
*• You're too soon!" 

*'Maybe it is for ye, but it ain't for me!" says 
Sandy, as he shivers in the cold. ''I've been 
undressed in here since half-past four an' got 
these tight things on me shanks, an' nothing 
but a Roman shirt without any trousers' legs or 
arms! I'm shiverin' juist!" 

**Hey! Sandy! Lindsay! Bring 'em out!" 
the people cry, and in response, the sheet is 
dropped, revealing such a pair of Heavenly 
Twins as no good Zodiac could do without. 
Sandy's long legs looked longer still in the thin 
fleshings which he wore, and his white Roman 
shirt was much too short, which made him seem 
a good grandfather graybeard more than half 
made up of arms and legs. As for his face— de- 
prived of its goat-beard, it looked in keeping 
with the body it adorned, and by its bareness 
showed his swivel eye, in a protruding, rolling 
style which set the schoolhouse in a roar. Lind - 
say stood still— his body and his face immov- 
able—and his set eyes staring at nothing in par- 
ticular—his head just reaching up to Sandy's 
arm. 

A shout of laughter greeted both, but this did 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 276 

not comport with Sandy's Roman dignity, and 
so he called a halt. 

"Look here," he said, *'ye wouldn't laugh if 
ye had on these Grecian panteloons! An', 
Drawback, as for ye— ef ye had ony sense ye'd 
jest wait till the laugh comes in, an' not antee- 
capate the time ! ye '* 

**The Dying Gladiator!" the schoolmaster 
called, to head him off. 

**Dyin'!" said Sandy with a leer. '*Look 
here! These are the 'leven' pecters, mind ye 
that. Don't kill the goose that lays yer golden 
egg, for if ye wrong in onything that's dead, 
ye'U want some lectors here to drag me off! 
Gall oot yer Ajox an'I'll come!" 

"All right," said the obliging schoolmaster, 
with a smile. 

*'Ajax Defying the Lightning!" 

Sandy struck a pose—and spread himself 
above the stage in such a style that everybody 
stared, and even Lindsay gazed, forgetful of his 
part. 

"Breng oot yer lightnin'!" Sandy called, "or 
do ye want a man to straddle here a' night with- 
out a bet o' lightnin' to defy? Here, Lindsay! 
Ye're the lightnin' calceelater — do yer part. 
Look here," he said, explaining to the audience, 
"ye see I've here a ten cup wi' a cover full o' 



276 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

holes, an' candle burnin' in the top, an', inside 
is a neckel's worth o' leekeepodun, an' I blow 
through this long tube into the cup — an' now 
the lightnin' which I here defy !" He blew with 
all his might, then drew his breath. The powder 
flew up in a blaze which scorched his eyebrows 
and his hair, and what remained went down his 
throat and took away his speech and breath, 
and set him off in such a fit of sneezing, cough- 
ing, sputtering and cries, that all the people 
thought it part of the '*defi" and roared in wild 
delight! 

**The Olympian Wrestlers!" the schoolmaster 
yelled above the noise— whereat the worthy 
Lindsay saw his chance, and grasping Sandy — 
now half doubled up— gave him a swing and 
dropped him on the floor. The audience 
howled, and Lindsay coolly bowed and crowed. 
But Sandy rose and caught him in the 
act, and raising the back window, seized his 
partner with both hands and threw him out 
into a bank of snow. But Lindsay, as he 
went, took Sandy's raiment with him, leaving 
the long-legged Koman in his glory all 
alone. 

**The Fall of Rome!" called out the school- 
master, before the great triumvir had a chance 
to turn, or even roll his oblique eye, or take in 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 277 

the true meaning and intent of the impending 
fall. 

A moment Sandy stood in classic attitude. 
The dignity of scorn was on his face — defiance in 
both eyes— and then he fell — "The noblest 
Eoman of them all!"— whack! The boards and 
bones in contact gave a thundering crash and 
Sandy's heels flew up. *'Ugh!" came the in- 
voluntary cry — then for a moment all was still 
—Rome was no more. ** Great was the fall 
thereof!" lo! 

As Sandy rose and rubbed himself, and called 
for "arneeca," there was a general shout, and 
laughter long and loud, but Sandy simply 
said: 

"Ithenkl'llnowgaehome! Eh! What! See 
here, ye Drawback, ye'll hand them clothes 
over ef ye've got them, an' if not, ye'll prove 
yer eenecence by lendin' me yer hat an' over- 
coat an' boots until I find my ane!" 

And Drawback, just to prove that he was 
wronged, took off his boots and gave them with 
his coat and hat, and Sandy graciously received 
the same and put them on, then groaned, and 
rubbed himself and disappeared — and he did 
not come back! The '* 'leven pecters and dis- 
solvin' views" were henceforth faded dreams. 

What Lindsay did was this. He came in the 



278 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

front door with Sandy's store clothes on his arm, 
and of these things he made a seat, and when 
the time came, took his way— -two hats upon his 
head — two coats upon his back, and his thin 
legs encased in double pantaloons and boots to 
warm his homeward walk. 

Drawback, in stocking feet, and minus hat 
and overcoat, went home through the deep 
snow, running and shivering all the long mile in 
the cold, but as he went his lips spoke words 
emphatic and impolitic, and swore at such a 
rate that everything was blue, and all along the 
road mutterings of Hades and eternal fire made 
matters hot beyond belief. 

Verily, there are some things for which the 
sinner does not have to wait. Justice is slow, 
but in good time, and in her certain way, she 
comes to all. 



And now the Pilgrim rose to tell the final part 
of the absorbing story of the past. At once all 
changed. The stillness of respect crept o'er 
the house. The thread of the discourse — broken 
by these delays and intervals of time — unseen 
and spirit hands made strong again and sym- 
pathy with every word sat still in every heart. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 279 

BONNIE BOON. 
Pakt Fourth. 

Time : — Winter — Burns' Birthday, 

**To make a happy fireside clime 
To weans and wife 
Is the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life." 

SCENE I. 

THE INGLESIDE AT ELLIESLAND. 

(Interior of Burns' farmhouse backed by a 
snowy landscape. Large old-fashioned Scotch 
fireplace with a blazing fire. Window to open 
and close. Entrance door and hallan piece. 
Interior door, leading to inner room. Table and 
chairs and seats for guests. A company of 
Scotch peasants, in winter holiday attire, also 
Gilbert, Davie, Bessie, Jon and Joey Anderson 
sit talking round the fire. The lads and lasses 
laugh and sing.) 

Chorus — **Rab's wife is Jean the bonnie, 
She's the darlin' o' th' monie, 
An' their welcome to their hame 
Shall be as blithe as she is bonnie!'* 



280 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Solo — **May delight before it dees 

Mak' them fou' o* ane anither; 
An' their bairns upon their knees 
Be monie as their years thegither." 

Chorus— **Rab's wife is Jean the bonnie," etc. 

( Auld Jon and Joey Anderson advance, centre, 
and sing.) 

Joey— Jon Anderson, my Jo, my Jonny, 
Jon — Tho' my days be lang and monie, 
Joey — Welcome Rab and Jeannie hame, 
Jon — As erst they welcomed us, my hinney! 
Joey — I'm the gudewife's lang syne frien' — 
Jon — To Robin I'll e'er be a brither, 
Joey — Be faither to their weans, Jon — 
JoN—Aje, Joey, if ye' 11 be their mither! 

(All laugh). 

Chorus — **Rab's wife is Jean the bonnie," etc. 

(All dance and hey. Jon and Joey sing with 
old cracked voices, and dance, with halting 
steps. All retire to the ingleside, laughing and 
talking.) 

**Hi, Jonny!" Gilbert calls. 

**Ho, Jonny!" says Davie. 

(Then all call.) **Ha! Jonny! Jonny! Jonny!" 

(Jonny mounts a chair and answering, ex- 
claims:) 

**Weel, lads and lasses, what'll ye hae wi' 
Jonny?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 281 

**The orders! The orders! The orders!" 

**Crack it oot to 'em, Jon," says Joey. 
"They'll forget it the sooner!" 

*'Aye, weel — the orders. Aye, ye see my- 
sel' an' gudewife came frae Ayr to help Rab 
out on his birthday an' the welcome o' his brand 
new wife into their braw new hame." 

**Aye! aye!" 

** An' it's a' because we seen sae monie berth- 
days oursel's!" says Joey. 

"An' been married sae often," says Jon. 

"Sae lang, Jonny." 

"Aye, sae lang — an' — an'— — " 

"An' had na weans i' th' fomily," says Joey. 

"Except oursel's," says Jon. "An' saewe're 
just here to set a gude example." 

"Aye! Aye! Aye!" 

"We understand, old friends," Gilbert rejoins. 
"You've come all the way from your little Inn, 
at Ayr, to honor your old friend." 

"Ah," Joey answers, "we'd a come an' it 
were thrice as far. The road's na long enough 
to keep his frien's awa' at sic a time!" 

"Your friendship honors you and honors 
Ayr," says Davie. 

"We thank ye weel," says Jon. "Whist! 
Robin's na in hearin' !" 

"No," Gilbert answers. "He and the gude- 



282 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

wife are dressing in their best to meet their 
Men's." 

*'Weel, then," Jon says, with emphasis, **ril 
just say this — the man or woman in Ayrshire 
who does na honor Eobert Burns is no honor to 
his kintra or himsel'." 

**Aye! gude! gude!" they all cry out. "But, 
Jonny, ye forget." 

"The orders, aye. Weel, we're a' to assist in 
the ceremony." 

"Aye— an' the ceremony — what'll it be?" 

"The ceremony — aye, well — the ceremony '11 
consist o' ceremony, eatin', drenkin' an' ither 
sich like eentellectual amusements." 

'*But, gudeman," Joey says, "they'll no 
understand." 

"Gudewife, I dinna onderstand mysel'; but 
do ye a' ken what eatin' is?" 

••Aye— aye!" 

**An' what dreenken is?" 

**Aye — aye— aye!' 

"An' lovin' is?" 

* 'Aye — aye — aye — aye !" 

* An' marry in' is?" 

** Aye ! — nae— nae — nae !" 
"Weel, then the orders are that ye're to fol- 
low Rab's example an' find oot!" 
"Gude! gude!" all shout. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 288 

•'Gude? Eh, Jenny?" Joey asks. 

**The marryin'? Aye! aye! aye! aye! aye! 

aye!" 

(All laugh.) 

•*Sae now," says Jon, '*the table groans; the 
bottles are burstin' ; the cellar is fou' ; the roads 
arefou'; the river is fou'; the house is fou'; 
our hearts are fou' ; an' if ye're na' a' fou' yer- 
sel's it'll na be the fau't o' auld Ayr!" 

•* Hurra! hurra!" all shout, and lift Jonny 
from chair. 

**An' now lads," Joey explains, *'ye're to 
welcome an' wait on th' leddies." 

"And, lasses," Jonny cries, "ye're to wait on 
an' welcome the lads — if ye ever expect 'em to 
wait upon you!" 

(The lasses all come forward singing:) 

Solo — **This is a' tb' steer, kimmer, 
This is a' th' steer; 
Robin's frien's to welcome 
And give auld Scotland's cheer!" 

Second— ** For that we're trim an' true, 
In our kirtles neat an' new, 
And each braw lad we welcome 
A lass is welcome to!" 

Chorus — "For that we're trim and true," etc. 

(A "halloo!" is heard and music of the "Min- 
strel Boy." All shout.) 



284 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Wha's comin'?" '^Wha's comin'?" 

All run to window and look out. 

"A lassie!" 

"Aye!" Davie answers. **The flower o' them 
a' !" (Auld Elfie enters covered with snow.) 

**Auld Elfie?" 

"My frien's " 

"Eh, sousie lassie! A kiss!" cries Gilbert. 

"Nae, ane for me," cries Davie. 

"Well— ane for a'!" says Elfie. 

(As the three hug the others laugh.) 

"Hoo's a' i' the house, my frien's?" Elfie asks. 
"An' Kab an' bonnie Jean?" 

"Weel, Elfie, weel, come by the lug," says 
Joey. 

"Nae—nae!" Gilbert and Davie answer her. 
"Elfie's ours. The lads wait on the lasses! 
Come!" (They take her things, and with great 
ceremony escort her to the fire.) 

"Ah!" says Jonny, *'Brawlie! The young 
deevils! I've no had mine!" (He goes to kiss 
Elfie — Joey comes between.) 

"Then there it is!" says Joey. (She gets it.) 

"Gude!" says Jon. "It's better than I ax- 
pected!" 

(The tune of "Duncan Gray" is heard outside. 
All start.) 

"What now! Who now?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 285 

"It's our turn now," cry all the girls. 

•*It's Tarn ! Tarn O'Shanter—drunken Tarn !" 

"Nae!" Davie says, **his ride settled that!" 

**Aye!" says Jonny. **An' settled his score 
at the Inn!" 

**Whoa, Meg!" shouts Tarn outside, then he 
and Katy enter cheerily. (All start.) 

"Tarn! Tarn! Tarn!" 

'•Aye, Tarn an' Katy!" 

**Nae, Katy an' Tarn— the wife comes first!" 

**An' gaes last. Hoo's a' o' ye here?" 

•'Weel— weel ! Welcome baith !" 

(The lasses all surround Tarn. The lads 
around Katy.) 

**Come, Tam, we welcome ye!" 

**An' Katy, we welcome ye!" 

•* Weel," says Tam, ^'here's a' the things. The 
whip, the cap; the cloak, the plaid. The fed- 
dle — dinna ye break it or I'm brucken mysel'. 
The gudewife— why, where th' deevil's Kate?" 

(The lads around Katy are trying to kiss her.) 

**Nae, ye young caller clouties, ye! Where's 
Tam?" 

(Tam by this time is surrounded by girls and 
cries out:) 

"Nae matter for Tam— look oot for yersel'!" 

**Nae kissin', ye young hizzies, ye!" cries 
Katy. 



^86 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"Only ane for his mither!" 

"A* right!" cries Tarn in delight. 

**A' wrong!" cries Katy, as she drives them 
away. 

"We're strangers here," says Tarn. "Let get 
acquaint an' kiss all around!" 

(Kogue's March is heard outside.) 

"What's that? What's that?" all ask. 

"What is it, sure enough?" 

"Stan' back," says Tarn, "an' let it stagger 
in; I've been that way mysel'!" 

(Holy Willie staggers in, quite drunk, and 
leans against the door.) 

"Haly Willie here!" they all exclaim. 

"Hie! It'smadooty!" 

"Nae," says Tam, "nae dooty aboot that. 
That's barley corn— ye can't fool me!" 

"Why are you here?" asks Gilbert. 

"To stop the weeked!" Willie answers 
him. 

"Oh!" (All groan.) 

"Dom!" says Tam; "butef ye wanted to stop 
the weeked ye should ha' fa'en through th' ice 
when ye crossed th' Nith." 

"Nae," Willie answers. "Gaud water does 
na agree wi' me now!" 

"How did ye like yer duckin' i' th' Doon?" | 
asks Tam. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 28''/ 

**It seckened me o' water; I ha' na used it 
syne," says Willie. 

*'Nor I barley corn/' says Tarn. 

**Ah, how did ye like yer ride?" asks Willie. 

**Gude! but what I lost, ye found. Ye're 
advancin' backwards, Willie. I'll have to lend 
ye Meg." 

''Heigh! Hie! Fill me fou', and when I'm 
glorious let me gang my gates!" (Willie cries, 
as he imitates Tam riding Meg.) 

** We'll na welcome ye!" the girls say in dis- 
gust, and then retire. 

**rve a warm one for ye,'' says Willie. 

*'Hetch him out in the barn wi Meg," says 
Katy. 

**Nae, have some consideration for the beast," 
says Davie. 

"Which one?" asks Tam. " Weel, we'll no be 
hard on Willie. I've been a beast mysel' !" 

(Music of bagpipes — faintly heard at first-— in- 
creasing to forte as party appears. Air * * Bonnie 
Dundee!") 

''Ah! What's that? The pipes!" 

"Aye," says Gilbert, "an' the march o' 
Bonnie Dundee!" 

(All look out and Davie cries:) 

'Hunters and horsemen comin' up the 
hill!" 



288 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**The gentlemen o' th' Caledonian Hunt," 
says Jon. 

**And highlandmen!" says Joey with delight. 

'*Aye," say the girls. *'An' see their plad- 
dies an' their braw bare legs!" 

**For shame, ye jauds!" cries Katy. 

"Pipers, gentlemen and highlanders!" cry all. 

'•Who's that?" asks Davie, and Gilbert an- 
swers: 

**Keady to receive him! 'Tis the Earl of 
Glencairn!" 

(Music forte, kept up until all enter. High- 
landers and hunters come first and form on 
either side, preceded by pipers, right and 
left. These are followed by the Earl of Glen- 
cairn, who advances centre, and is surrounded 
and received with cheers.) 

"A welcome all to Robert's friend!" Gilbert 
calls. 

* * Hey ! hey ! Scotland forever ! Heigh !" 

**I thank you from my heart!" replies Glen- 
cairn. *'Where is my good friend, Robert?" 

**Where would he be," says Davie, ''but wi' 
his ain gude wife, an' comin' here to welcome 
ye!" 

**We are here to welcome himr' replies Glen- 
cairn. "To give to him those honors which are 
justly his!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 289 

•'Ah, my lord," says Gilbert, with respect, 
'*we never could believe it. When he left our 
farm to go away, he went so poor he had not 
even money for the journey, but walked the 
way to Edinboro— nothing in his pocket and 
only doubt in his mind and small hope in his 
heart." 

**But in that heart," says Davie feelingly, 
*'the gudeness o' the great, and in his brain " 

*'That glorious spark of genius which sets the 
world on fire!" says Glencairn with enthusiasm. 
**I care not how he went away, for he returns 
the prince of Scottish song!" 

*'He's here wi' bonnie Jean!" says Davie, as 
he steps aside. 

*'Then strike for him— and strike for her!" 
exclaims Glencairn. 

(As the music sounds with spirit the air of 
**Bonnie Jean," Burns, leading his wife, comes 
from the inner room and advancing to Glen- 
cairn , seizes his hand and grasps it warmly. 
Both Jeannie and himself bow in respect, and 
then he speaks:) 

"My noble Lord! Jeannie, my gude wife — 
my honored patron from Edinboro — the Earl o' 
Glencairn!" 

•*The royal welcome of a grateful heart!" 
says Jeannie, as she bows before him. 



JJ90 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

"Your hands," exclaims the earl. "Call me 
your friend — I ask no more. Friend is the 
noblest title, Brither Burns!" 

"Our friend!" they both exclaim. 

"And more than that!" says Burns in grati- 
tude. "For you have made this honor possi- 
ble!" 

"Nay— Blacklock— Mackenzie— Kobert Gra- 
ham—Hamilton." 

"Names honored in my heart forever !" Robert 
answers him. 

"True — much merit lies in friendly acts," 
exclaims the earl, "but the real merit was 
your own!" 

"'Twas nothing," Robert answers. "Went 
for nothing. For ten years I have been the 
same. Whatever poor talent I have now, in- 
spired me then— my heart, my mind, the same — 
and the result more of discredit than respect." 

"I wandered in the ways of men 
Alike unknowing and unknown I 

"But come, a cup of welcome— then we'll 
waste the night till morning shines again! Sit 
down and let the ingle's warmth assure you 
such a welcome is your own!" 

"'Tis all we poor folks have to give," says 
Jeannie, with a gracious smile. "But take it 
from us wi* a love we'd hae ye aye remember!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 291 

'*Aye/' Kobert adds: 

"The mother may forget the child 
That smiles so sweetly on her knee, 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 
And a' that thou hast done for me!'* 

*'Then corao again," exclaims the earl, **to 
social life and Edinboro!" 

*'I dare not hope to do so," Kobert answers 
him. *'My place is here. Born with the lowly, 
I shall live with the people and die with the 
poor!" 

**But there your fancy might wing still higher 
flights " 

-Not so 

In wild-wood grove let wood-lark rove — 

For caged larks seldom sing — 
The free erne seeks the mountain's top. 

For there alone he's king ! 

**'Tis so with me, and think, these hills I love 
have been the battle-ground of Wallace and of 
Bruce, and in their hour of need, gave to the 
house of Stuart both a shelter and a welcome." 

**Stuart!— Robert— you forget!" 

**No — I remember— not their rights or wrongs, 
but that they were unfortunate! 

*'0h, never let me live to see the day when 
Scotsmen standing upon Scottish soil, shall fail 



292 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

to love and reverence their heroic dead, whether 
their cause were lost or won. Scotia, while in 
thy borders lies the field of Bannockburn, for- 
ever in our hearts, above all other loyalty, abides 
our love for thee!" 

**My friend, your hand. These words do 
honor to our common country." 

**Bat," answers Kobert, *'this is not the time 
to speak them. Forgive me. Come — sit 
down." 

(They retire. Glencairn joins Jeannie by fire. 
The others group around it. Joey plays with 
the children on the floor. Willie sleeps in hal- 
lan corner. Tam comes forward with all the 
peasantry and beckons Kob, and speaks:) 

**Kab, we're na sae gude, nor sae great as the 
ithers, but we ken ye as weel, and lo'e ye bet- 
ter than them a'." 

*'Gude hearts," says Robert, '*aye; but na 
sae gude as I lo'e ye. Brithers an' frien's, I'm 
wi' ye always, heart and soul!" 

(They grasp his hand and cry:) 

**Aye! Scotland forever! Heigh!" 

**Your hands! Your hands!" says Eobert. 

"They're yours, Rab — yours! An' no for 
what ye are, but what ye've ever been — in good 
or ill — sickness or want — in sorrow an' in toil!" 

**God bless ye all!" says Robert feelingly. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 293 

"For an' that a' a' that— 
A ribbon star an' a' that — 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that!" 

(Katy comes and takes his hand/; 

"For a' that— an' a' that 
Here take a kiss for a' that!" 

(And Bessie, on the other side.) 

"Anither ane for a* that!" 

(Then all the lasses come forward, singing:) 

For a' that an' a' that— 
An' this an' that an' a' that— 
A bonnie miss is not amiss 
When she can gie ye a' that ! 

(All kiss him.) 

**Aha!" says Tarn; *'y®'^ better look oot, 
Rab. Ye've gotten a wife noo. I kend ye'd do 
it!" 

**Sae did I," says Katy, *'an' we honor ye for 
it!" 

"Ah, but we poor bodies, Eab?" say all the 
girls. 

**There, there," says Robert, giving them a 
kiss. *'ril be a brither to ye!" 

(Jon, Davie and Gilbert come on with large 
steaming bowl of punch, which Joey places table 



294 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

to receive. Willie wakes, smells it and advances 
with others.) 

*'Brawlie done, lads— brawlie done," says 
Jon. 

**Weel," says Robert: 

"Let's be merry an' free — 
I'll be sad for naebody; 
If naebody cares for me, 
I'll care for naebody." 

**Ah, Rab," says Tarn, '*as ye did nae gae to 
Jamaica they've brought Jamaica here to ye!" 

(Willie hovers about the bowl and sighs.) 

•*It's ma dooty ! Said Paul to Timothy—" 

*'More screpter," says Tam. **He's search- 
in' for an excuse." 

*' Ah, weel," says Rab, **as Shakespeare says, 
*the de'il can quote Scripture to suit his pur- 
pose.' " 

*'I have it," says Willie, as he goes up to the 
bowl. **ril suffer in a gude cause. What I 
dreenk will be that much spared to them." 

'*A' gaes in his slot," says Tam; **an' ye've 
gotten fivepence, Nick'll tak' it." 

**Put him out!" the others cry. 

**Not yet," says Robert. *'Naebody goes 
away empty this day. As I toast, fill him full, 
*Soop 'erup!' " 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 295 

(Robert toasts a dozen different names in quick 
succession while Willie drinks, filled up by Tarn 
with a flourish.) 

*'To my gudewife, Jeannie Burns!" 

"To my noble patron, the Earl o' Glencairn!" 

"To my native land!" 

"To my dear auld mither!" 

"To a' my weans and their mither!" 

"To a' the women in Scotland!" 

"To a' here an' awa'!" 

"To a' my friends an' a' my enemies!" 

"To the deil-Haley Willie!" f Willie chokes 
at this and retires.) 

"Open the door," says Tam. 

"Fall out!" cry all the others. (Willie drops 
out. All laugh as he goes.) 

"Nay, lads," says Robert; "that's not our 
hospitality!" 

"Hoot— toot!" says Tam. "It's ony just to 
cool him aff. He'll no go far wi' that load. 
Now, Rab, gae on wi' yer whigmaleeries!" 

"Aye," says Glencairn laughing, as he comes 
forward. "I like to hear your friendly crackin'. 
Let's hae a gude talk by the winter's fire!" 

"Aye, aye!" they all cry out. 

"Yer feddle, Tam, yer feddle !" 

(Tam gets it and comes down.) 

"What shall it be?" 



296 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

•*A11! all! all!" 

'*Naething alane— a' at once?" 

*'Aye! A' thegither!" 

(Then follows a concerted medley of Scotch 
airs. Tarn accompanies, playing against the 
pipes. The various singers against each other, 
without discord. '*Jon Anderson," "Bonnie 
Doon," **Duncan Gray," **Scots wa hae," and 
martial airs of similar tempi. At the conclu- 
sion low cries outside of "Help! help! help!") 

(As they listen, Willie's voice is heard:) 

"Help! help! for the love o' gudeness, help!" 

"Some misfortune!" Eobert cries, as he starts 
up. "Come, lads, come!" (They rush out and 
return, assisting Willie in door, bearing Madge 
helpless in his arms. Both are covered with 
snow. They bring Madge forward.) 

"What calamity?" exclaims Glencairn. 

"Some woman lost in the storm," Robert an- 
swers him. 

"The chair!" cries Jean. "Here, here. Not 
by the fire!" (The chair is placed in centre, 
the various people run for water, snow, and 
punch from the bowl.) 

"Rub her hands, an' her face!" they cry. 

"Give her the liquor," Robert says. "She's 
exhausted, but not frozen." 

(All attend her. The ladies unfasten her 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 297 

clothes. A wreath falls out. The men take 
Willie aside and question him.) 

*'Poor girl," exclaims Glencairn. **She must 
have fallen in the snow." 

**Where did ye stumble on her, Willie?" asks 
Tam. 

*'I staggered agin' something i' th' path. I 
brought it in. The Lord be thankit!" 

** Willie," says Burns, as he takes his hand, 
*'ye've done one good thing at last, and we 
forgive ye a' th' past!" 

**Aye, dom it," says Tam. *'Gae ye there, 
an' dreenk every drap i' th' bowl!" 

**I done ma dooty!" Willie answers. 'Til 
do it again. " (He drinks.) 

**She is recovering!" says the earl. 

"Thank Heaven! She is!" cries Jean. 
"Look up, poor lass, ye're safe!" 

"Stand back!" says Kobert, "and let me see 
— some one may know her!" 

"Nae! nae!" all answer him. 

"She's speakin' now !" says Jean, "bewildered 
like an' low. Kobin, she speaks your name!" 

"Robert!" they all exclaim. 

"Ah ! Let me look !" Robert cries " W^hy, it 
is Madge McGowan! The friend of my poor 
Mary! She's come to seek me!" 

"How!" 



298 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**0h, dinna stay to speak or question me. 
Dinna ye see the mourning that she wears? It 
is for Mary Campbell— lost to me forever!" 
(He kneels by her side.) 

**Frien's!" cries Jean in great excitement, 
**pray bear wi' him at such a time and leave us 
to ourselves. Dear Gilbert, will ye kindly tak' 
them in, an' come again?" 

(All bow in great respect, and Gilbert shows 
them to the inner rooms.) 

*'Madge! Madge! My bonnie lass!" cries 
Kobert wildly, as he takes her hands. **My 
Mary's friend! Speak! Speak and tell me all 
is well! Dinna ye ken friend Kobin any more? 
Oh, Madge, dear Mary's dead!" 

*'I hear yer voice!" she answers faintly. 
**Aye, noo I hear it— 'tis Robin!" 

**Itis! It is!" 

"But ah, ye did na answer when I ca'ed, an' 
sae I ca'ed an' wandered on, until I fell, ex- 
hausted on the snaw. But I ha' found ye noo. 
I found ye noo!" 

**Ye're safe!" says Jean. *Toor lass, ye're 
safe in friendly shelter now!" 

**What kind-faced lassie's this?" asks Madge. 
**Ah, don't ye know me? Don't ye remember 
i' th' barn, th' night I came wi' her, last Hal- 
lowe'en?" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 1199 

*'Aye, now I see. You were herfriendr* 

**Aye, Jean, aye!" Robert sadly answers. 

**Then she'll be mine!'' says Jean. 

**Bless ye, dear Jean, an' now o' Mary. 
Speak!" says Robert importuningly to Madge. 

'*You remember then, the night you saw her 
in your dream?" 

**Aye!" Robert answers her. **In Mossgiel 
barn. Her wraith-a vision of the dead! She 
seemed my guardian muse." 

**That week she died!" cries Madge in tears. 

**0h, Mary! Mary! Mary!" 

**She said ye'd know of it, for [she had told 
ye in a dream an' ye had looked upon her 
wraith, as even in her death, her face would 
look on yours!" 

•*ril ne'er forget! I'll ne'er forget!" cries 
Robert in despair. 

*'0h, Mary, lost forever!" 

**Her dying message was her love to you, an' 
kiss for your gudewife, on your happiest day. 
I've waited till the time, an' come to gie them 
both!" (Madgekisses Jean, who embraces her.) 

"My good, my bonnie lass," Robert cries, 
"what more?" 

"Some little keepsakes that I brought, but 
ah, I've lost 'em i' th' snaw!" 

"Poor lass!" 



300 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

(Madge sees wreath which was dropped on 
floor.) 

**Ah, but the wreath is here! It an' the 
gowans I brot frae Ayr, an' carried i' my breast. 
Nane could tear them frae that place, nor was 
there snaw enough in Scotland to stop me on 
my way!" 

** Dear Madge!" 

"They're withered now and dead," she cries, 
'*like her who gave them, but they're for ye, 
and wi' her love!" (Burns takes them, kisses 
them and says, with great feeling:) 

**They are scented a' wi' th' blessing o' her 
touch ! 'Twill cling to them until they crumble 
into dust, ! So will her memory ever be with me, 
till, like them, I shall cease to live!" 

**Here is her gift to ye," says Madge to Jean, 
"these hawthorn buds from Doon. She broke 
off every thorn." 

"But, ah, she left the thorn wi' me!" sighs 
Robert, in great grief. 

"This frae yer try sting place on Ayr. She 
said ye'd know the very tree!" 

(Burns takes the wreath and bows his head.) 

"The holy under which we used to sit! Why 
this is like the one I got on Halloween!" 

" ' Twas she that gave ye that, an' she that sent ye 
thisr 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 301 

(Burns goes to similar wreath hung on the 
wall, and as he does so, Jean places Madge 
by the fire. Kobert takes both wreaths and 
comes forward, saying solemnly:) 

**These — Mary— ah, now I see! The vision's 
past! It was not all a dream ! It was the spirit 
of a love that outlives life itself, immortal as its 
maker!" 

(Jean comes and puts her arms about him.) 

**0h, Robert, husband, hear me speak. The 
time for silence now has passed. She came 
that night in Mossgiel harn^ to see you ere she died. 
She knew your sorrow, and she would na 
give ye more, so charged me not to tell, an' 
went away. Oh, Robert, she was worthy of 
your love an' faithful to the last!" 

(Burns stands a moment lost in thought, then 
says:) 

**Mary, my ain, look down upon us now, but 
dinna grieve for those you've left behind. 
Love does not change with death, and all 
through life I've my good Jeannie's sympathy !" 
(He embraces Jean, who cries:) 

**Robert, oh, my only love! Her love has 
hallowed ours!" 

*'Then," Robert answers, **let it cost your 
heart no pang. Mary was never mine. I was 
not worthy of her!" 



302 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**You loved her, Robert?" 

**I had been less than man, if I had not. Her 
love but made me better." 

"She was your boyhood's sweetheart, 
Robert." 

*'You are my manhood's honored wife!" 

**And still she'll be forever in your mind " 

*' As you are in my heart!" (Gives bouquet.) 
** Wear these, this day upon your breast, for her 
sake and for mine!" (Jeannie kisses the flow- 
ers and pins them on her bosom. Robert 
kisses her as he condacts her to her room. He 
then goes up to the fireplace, and hangs the 
wreaths upon the wall. Then seeing Madge, he 
takes her kindly by the hand, and smooths her 
hair and speaks to her:) 

** And are ye warm now, bonnie Madge? And 
are ye well? What can I do for you, for all 
your faithfulness to her— your kindness unto 
me?" 

**0h, sir, but one thing only. She asked that 
for her sake, ye'd tak' me in your service." 

**Ye'll never leave us. As ye were friendly 
to dear Mary Campbell, be faithful to my dear 
wife, Jean." 

*'rd die for either! An' I'll feed the 
chuckles, an' tend a' th' Iambics, an' nurse a' 
th' weans, like a mither, a' my lee lang days!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 303 

(She goes out crying, at entrance door. 
Robert, looking after her:) 

**Ah, gudeheart, kind as leal, you're queen 
among the best. No wonder Mary loved her!*' 

(Madge runs back in excitement of delight.) 

*'0h, Maister Robin, here's what I dropped i' 
th* snaw when a the kind folks brot me in— 
from her to you alone!" (Exits, L.) 

(He takes a chair and sits by fire as he un- 
wraps a book.) 

**My God! The book on which we pledged 
our troth. Oh I Mary, my own, in Heaven ! I'll 
keep my vow. I'll never — more forget ye! 
Never! Never! Though your death parts us 
now, my own shall reunite us!" 

'* Still o'er past scenes my memory wakes, 
And fondly broods wi* miser's care, 
Time but the impression stronger makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear! 

'*My Mary! Dear departed shade, 
Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hearest thou the groans that rend his breast?" 

(Jon and Joey Anderson come from the inte- 
rior door, followed by Tam, with his fiddle. Jon 
and Joey advance on either side of Robert and 
place their hands on his head. Tam tunes the 



304 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

violin, by the fire. Joey kisses Kobert, and 
both put their arms about him, as Tam plays 
•' Auld Lang Syne." Burns starts up and, with 
great feeling, exclaims;) 

**Not now, dear friends! not now! not now. 
Mind meo' other things. My heart's unstrung!" 

**An' dom," says Tam, '*sae is me feddle! I 
can't play now. Here, Rab's, my hand!" 

"And, Tam, here's mine forever!" 

"An' baith are harder than our hearts!" says 
Tam. "Let's gae ootside an' fight!" 

"Haud!" cries Jonny. "After supper!" 

"Aye," Joey says. "Sooper'll soon be 
ready!" 

"Then give the best to Aer," says Robert. 

"To whom?" 

"The wee bit lass that's just come in frae out 
the snow." 

"Nay," Jonny says, "she would na hold the 
thousandth part o' it." 

(Joey goes to Rob and tries to cheer him.) 

"Dinna forget," she says, "the Scotch broth, 
an' the sowens; the parritch an' th' haggis!" 

"An' Scotch whesky!" says Jonny, "an' a' 
th' ale frae Ayr." 

"An' a ' yer frien's an' company," says Tam. 
"Eh, Rab, I clean forgot! There's ane I left 
ootside!" 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 306 

•*Ootside?" 

**Aye, an' a female, too!" 

**A female in the cold and storm?" 

**Dom, but I forgot her. Here she is !" (Tam 
opens the window and his mare, Meg, sticks her 
head inside.) 

**Auld Meg!" they all exclaim. 

**Aye! my gude auld naig! My bobtailed 
frien' !" says Tam. (Burns goes to her and rubs 
her fore -top). 

**You're right to love her, Tam." 

** Aye," says Tam. **For she's ne'er ashamed 
to show her face; as for her tail, that's not on 
exheebeetion!" 

(All laugh, and Kobert gives her oatcakes.) 

**Here's for ye, Meg. You've done your 
duty better than us all!" 

''Right, Rab," says Tam. '*She saved me 
once, my body and my soul, an' now she makes 
you laugh an' pass your troubles, as I passed 
the Boon!" 

*'Anither cake for that!" says Robert, giving 
it. ''We'll bring her in for supper." 

"Eh! but, Rab, see here, I clean forgot." 

"What?" 

"Why a' the load o' presents that we brought 
frae yer frien's. The joy inside drove a' else 
from my stupid head. Ca' a' yer frien's. I'll 



306 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

bring the gimcracks in!" (Tam rushes out, 
Jon and Joey call in company.) 

*Tardon me, friends," says Robert to his 
guests, **Some foolishness of Tam's." 

(Tam sticks his head in window and calls out:) 

**Dom, but it's na foolishness— it's real. 
Here, tak' them in. Lay hold o' that!" 

(Gilbert, Davie, Grlencairn, Katy, Elfie, girls, 
Jon and Joey take in the presents, as Tam 
hands them through window.) 

"What's this?" cries Robert. **The auld 
stone punch -bowl!" 

**Aye," says Jean, **I mind it weel. 'Twas 
father made it." 

'*And see," says Burns, **it's rimmed with 
silver now, an' an inscription's on it 

" *To Robert Burns, frae the Inns o' Ayr,^ 

With the love an' compliments of 

Jon Anderson and Joey." 

(Burns shakes their hands.) 

**My dear auld frien's!" 

•*An' here's anither," says Tam, as he puts 
in a model. 

**Ah," Burns exclaims; *the auld clay biggin 
where I first saw light just thirty years ago!" 

(Gilbert reads the inscription:) 

**From the workmen of Ayr to their friend, 
Robert Burns,** 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 307 

**An' here's a bonnie pair!" says Tarn, as he 
hands in birds with purses in their beaks. 

'*A throstle and a lark," says Jean. **Gold 
in the mouth of one and siller in the other!" 
(Reads:) 

^^Frae Bobbie Burns and Davie Sillar, 
wi' a wee bit tocher for Bonnie Jean!" 

(She kisses them.) 

**Look oot for the pecter," cries Tam as he 
hands it in. (Davie reads:) 

^^Coila, the Muse, Crowning the Bar dP^ 

(Burns looks at it in astonishment and ex- 
claims:) 
* ' My dream— reality !" (He reads : ) 

''From Edinboro and the Earl of Glencairn." 

(Burns takes his patron's hand and bows in 
deep feeling. The birds are placed on mantel, 
the picture hung on the wall. Girls arrange 
them.) 

**An' here," cries Tam, *'is ane for Robin's 
hands alane. Nae ane can do it better nor 
himself!" 

(A decorated plough is handed in. Burns puts 
it down, and takes position of ploughman.) 



308 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**The plough! Welcome, friend of adversity! 
So long as I follow you, 1*11 never want!'* 

(Glencairn reads the card.) 

^^Frae your brither farm^ers on the 
banks o* the Nith,^^ 

**I thank them," Kobert answers; **and shall 
remember what the Bible says: 

**Who will not plough by reason of the cold, 
Shall beg in harvest and have no bread." 

**And here!" says Tam,ashe enters — **here's 
the last!" 

(Hands Burns a Masonic square and compass, 
made of laurel and heather, with large G of red 
flowers in centre. Robert receives it with 
honors.) 

*'An' who sent ye this, Rab?" asks Tam. 

**I don't know, Tam, but some one I suppose, 
who had the Scottish right.'" 

(Davie reads inscription:) 

^'From your brothers o' Tarbolton and 
Mauchline. ' ' 

"Your brothers?" ask the girls. 
**An' how mony brithers hae ye, Rab?" asks 
Tam. 
**One thousand in Ayrshire, ten thousand in 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 309 

Scotland, and hundreds o' thousands scattered 
all over the world." 

**Weel," says Tam in astonishment, '*ac- 
cordin' to that, ye've dang near a million 
brithers!" 

**Aye, Tam, it's true!" 

**An' yer mither's alive!" cries Tam. 

(Madge runs in from outer door.) 

'*0h, Maister Robin ! Maister Robin !" 

'^Whatisit, Madge?" 

**A little stray, just like mysel'. I found it 
strugglin' i' th' snaw, when I went out with th' 
bairns." (She takes a snow covered lamb from 
under her cloak. Jeannie receives it. 

''Oh, the wee hoggie," says Tam.) 

'*It's ane o' Mallie's breed," says Jean. **The 
mither's dead, an' this lamb's a* we have to 
'mind us o' Rab's favorite." 

"Poor Mallie!" Robert says; ''but we'll take 
good care o' this for her sake. Here, Madge, ye 
an' the bairns go take it by the shepherd's ingle, 
an' warm and feed it well. It shall na want, 
for as they'd say in Ireland, it's the last o' the 
yoioe MalliesF' 

(Madge takes it to the fire. The children 
caress, while she feeds it. Willie sees it pass 
and calls:) 

"Oh, bonnielambie!" 



BIO ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

**Baa!!" says Madge, as she holds it up. 

'*Gae to the deil!" says Willie, who sits and 
sleeps. 

(Glencairn comes forward to Eobert.) 

"Kobert," he says, '* I see everything is wel- 
come under this roof, but your house is not 
large enough to hold your friends!" 

'*Weel, then," says Eobert feelingly, **I hope 
it's large enough to hold my enemies! For 
bird and beast and friend and enemy are wel- 
come while it's mine!" 

(Bagpipes ara heard inside.) 

'*Aye, friend," exclaims Glencairn, *'even 
the very pipes sound welcome in the hall." 

*^'Tis well!" says Burns. '^They'll teach me 
to forget." 

**What?" 

'*The happy past!" 

**The future, Eobert," says Jeannie, as she 
comes to him. 

**Aye, that I must remember! This day I 
turn toward the coming years! This day I 
mark for duty!" 

*'An' Jeannie'U aye respect ye for it, Eab; 
ye'll face it like a man." 

(As she retires Glencairn exclaims:) 

**Eobert, your wife's all goodness, gentleness 
and love." 



ROMATSrCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 311 

DOW 



* Beyond my poor deserts. No more — for 



*'To make a happy fireside clime 
To weans and wife 
That's the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life!" 

"My friend," exclaims Glencairn, **your 
hand. If I have ever been your friend before, 
count on me doubly from this hour." 

**I canna speak," says Robert, with great 
feeling, **my heart's too full ! Jean !" 

(Jeannie advances to them.) 

**Help me to thank our noble patron here, and 
greet our friends, and Scotland's honored peas- 
antry ! 

Now strike for Auld Lang Syne 

And say with me the rhymes 

I canna speak, for something stays my words. 

(All the characters advance and surround him. 
The Highlanders, pipers, ladies and lasses on 
at the back. The characters in front line.) 
BuKNS— ''My heart's o'er fu' an' fu' my hand." 
Davie— ''Sae fu' o' joy be Elliesland!" 
Bessie— *' Where faithful Scots forever stand!" 
Jean — **Then to our ingle welcome a'." 
Glen— "Friends ne'er grow cold, orfa' awa'." 
Katy— **As leaves fa' frae th' briken shaw!" 



312 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Madge— ** Ne'er round ye fa' misfortune's 

snaw." 
Gilbert— ** Let friendly feet sound i' th' ha'." 
Joey— **An' love-light shine on faces braw." 
Jon — **My Joey, will ye staw yer jaw?" 
Elfie— "Aye, hens are still when auld cocks 

craw!" 
Tam— ''For there's na luck aboot the hoose, 

this spring, or next summer, or next winter or 

next fa' " 

Burns— **If your smiles are awa' !" 

(All laugh. The music strikes up and all sing 

in grand line.) 

"For there's nae luck about the house, 
There's nae luck at a' — 
There's nae gude fortune in the house 
When your smiles are awa' !" 

(As the others dance to the air Tam is only in 
the middle of the verse, and finishes the music 
in same metre in which he spoke the rhyme. 
Music changes to ''Bonnie Breastknots.") 

**Then hi' the bonnie, ho the bonnie, 
Hey the bonnie housewife ! 
To Eab his Jeannie, o' th' monie, 
Will make a bonnie housewife!" 

(D. C, and all dance and hey.) 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 313 

**Hi the boDDie, ho the bonnie, 
Hey the bonnie housewife ! 
To Rab his Jeannie brings the bonnie 

*'Auld Lang Syne, my friends — 
The auld Lang Syne, 
Tho* happy yet we'll na forget 
The frien's o* Auld Lang Syne!" 
******* 

As soon as the last words fell from the 
speaker's lips the music struck the old familiar 
note, and men and women, young and old, the 
minister and Donald's mother with the rest, and 
all the boys and bonnie girls arose, and clasped 
each others' hands, and heart to heart and soul 
to soul with voices blending in the feeling and 
exulting sound, sang the inspiring song, a tribute 
to the author dead and to his living friend. Bar- 
bara stood clasped in Donald's arms, a smile of 
joy upon her handsome face, and then she joined 
the others as they circled round the modern 
chieftain of the clan. 

When the good minister could find his voice, 
he, in the name of all, essayed to give the Pil- 
grim thanks; but Donald stayed his words. 

**No, no!" he said. **No one deserves a word 
of thanks for doing what his duty calls on him 
to do. I am ashamed that I— in all these years 
—have not done more to help or bless my fel- 



314 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

lowmen. This work is only words. How poor 
my deeds compare — for you remember well 
what Shakspeare says: 

*' *If to do were as easy as to say what were 
good to do, chapels had been churches and poor 
men's cottages princes' palaces.' " 

"My friend," replied the minister, as he took 
the Pilgrim's hand, **good words are worthy as 
good deeds. A good book is a constant friend, a 
sermon seven days in every week, and does far 
more to advance the interests of the human race 
than all the standing armies of the world. 

"Small as your work may seem, its mission 
is to bless, and so we hail and prize it! 

"See from this spot where now we stand, the 
light shows in my study window on the hill. 
Here is a simile which you may keep within 
your memory, if not within your heart, and 
know you have recalled it, and since you quote 
from the immortal bard — in his undying words 
I answer back: 

** 'How far that little candle throws his beams! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world !* " 

FINIS. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 815 



NOTES. 
I. 

A ROMANCE of the life and loves of a celebrity 
like Robert Burns, which pictures **Highland 
Mary," *'Bonnie Jean," and many notable but 
unknown characters, naturally excites some 
question as to the truthfulness of the portraits 
given and the reality of scenes described. 

Regarding the Arcadian country and the peo- 
ple of the first book of the story, a few words 
may be said : 

The pastoral is purely an imaginative work, 
but those who care to visit the romantic hills of 
Rockland which overlook the Hudson may find 
the real scenes as sketched in Donald's narrative 
— the mountain peaks, hills, valleys, streams, 
fields, roads and lanes — the very trees, school- 
house, old church and burial-ground, but of the 
happy people— save some half-forgotten name 
.upon a gravestone — he will find no trace. 

As to the Scottish scenes and characters of 



316 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

the Dramatic Second Part— they are intended 
to be faithful pictures of past days — the person- 
ages, some real and some— as **Madge" — mere 
children of the brain, but the scenes— thanks 
to the courtesy of Margary Stuart— are photo- 
grahically and historically correct. 



IL 



At a meetmg of the Scottish Society, held 
in Assembly Hall, Fifth Avenue, New York, on 
Burns' birthday, 1899, Andrew Carnegie made 
an interesting and characteristic address, in 
which he stated, among other things, that 
** Nothing new could now be said regarding 
Eobert Burns." 

As an answer the author of this romance sent 
him the beautiful poem by Eobert Reid, of Mon- 
treal — which was published in this city on that 
day, and which— together with the glowing 
tribute of the late Colonel Ingersoll— is given on 
another page. 

Added to these was promised this work— a 
labor of love for all Americans and Scotsmen 
everywhere— which, as will be seen, is dedi- 
cated to Mr. Carnegie, recalling that occasion - 
when **the heather was on fire" and friendly 
Scots joined hands for Auld Lang Syne. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 317 
III. 

That the character of the good **old minister" 
is not entirely imaginary may be gathered from 
the following letter which relates to Barbara's 
manuscript of Donald Stuart's story: 

**Feiend and Fellow Pilgrim: I thank you 
for your mark of confidence and trusting in my 
judgment of your work. 

'*As promised, I have read and carefully re- 
viewed your so-called * Sinner's Sermon,' being 
much struck by the introduction of Robert 
Burns and his walks and talks with Mary from 
their first love scene till the triumphal end. 

**The quality of the book is of the very best. 
The spirit of the Eternal drifts through it, and 
I think you will believe me when I say the true, 
strong and great writer is back of the work and 
in it. 

*'And now, dear brother soldier, may Heaven 
give you more good thoughts, to weave in help- 
ful stories, making your life useful by service, 
and keeping you mindful of the thought that 
He leads ever in the right. 

'* Sincerely yours, J. R." 

IV. 

The drama of **Bonnie Doon," which com- 
prises the entire Second Book, has been pre- 



318 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

pared especially for stage production and is pro- 
tected by copyright in Europe and America. 

To those eminent artists, Mr. E. H. Sothern, 
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Whiffen, Mr. Joseph 
Haworth, Mr. F. F. Mackay, Kobert Mantell, 
and Robert McWade, as well as to that success- 
ful dramatist and producer, Mr. David Belasco, 
the author has been obliged for flattering en- 
dorsements of this play. The same applies to 
Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Knowles, of the Fifth 
Avenue Theatre, and gratefully to Miss Ellen 
Terry and Sir Henry Irving. 

Its production in the near future will be under 

special supervision and with appropriate scenes 

and cast. 

V. 

The editor of these notes from Barbara's rec- 
ords has discovered— like many others, doubt- 
less—that the human race is a great family of 
critics. Know-alls are plentiful in all localities ; 
iconoclasts abound. What one, by careful 
thought and patient toil builds in a year, thou- 
sands are ready to demolish in a day. 

One of this kind, who seems to have been the 
"Columbus Cant," and *'Holy Willie" of the 
story, is much in evidence in the following let- 
ter, which exhibits a critical spirit quite in con- 
trast to the friendly words of Donald Stuart's 
other correspondents. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 319 

This is the brief but caustic epistle, and the 
equally short and sarcastic reply: 

** Donald Stuart: — 

**Sir: I hear you have written a book. Even 
as your worst enemy I could wish you no worse 
fate. 

** O, that mine adversary had written a hookP^ 

—Job. 

**Having committed suicide you save me from 
exterminating you by other means. You call 
me Pharisee. I call you a fool ! 

"Now write this title down and your readers 
will find more truth in it than in your descrip- 
tion of people you never knew and scenes you 
never saw ! 

"Remember 

'^ All liars shall have their part in the lake which 
hurnetK'* 

— Revelations. 

"Sogood-by, C. C." 

"C. C.:— 

"Sir: You hear aright. I have written a book 
whose best recommendation is that characters 
like yours do not figure largely in its pages. 

"With some sorrow I acknowledge that the 
name you give me is deserved since I waste 
words on you. 

"Your criticism of my descriptions is some- 
what correct, but scarcely reciprocal, as I have 



320 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

had more charity for your detailed accounts of 
Heaven— a country you have never seen, and-— • 
sins considered — never will see. 

**The 'burning lake' you have such faith in, 
is probably more in your way, and in good time, 
no doubt, you will receive your much deserved 
and proper *part.' 

**A long farewell. D. S." 

VI. 

On Sunday, October 15, 1899, an old man, 
who evidently wished to verify, by visiting local- 
ities in this romance, climbed the hill east of 
Pomona and looked around him on the countless 
fruit trees in the orchards of Rockland. 

Through the blue haze, in every direction, 
red apples glistened in the sun and, mingling 
with the tinted foliage, made a fairy scene 
through which the old man seemed to wander 
in a dream. 

Passing up the hills he turned at the cross- 
roads and walked towards the English church, 
from which he saw the country people going 
home. Following some of these along the east- 
ward road he came to the descent into the great 
valley which is bounded by Torne peak, the 
Indian Hill and Highlands bordering on the 
** river of the North." 

Beyond this point, he went down by different 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 321 

roads towards the south until he came to Scot- 
land Hill and other scenes surrounding what had 
once been Donald Stuart's home. 

Surveying all these places slowly, as if com- 
muning with them in affectionate regard, he 
passed the schoolhouse, then the burying- 
ground — where a young man and woman strolled 
about and talked of love — and, finally, he sat 
down under the great red oak, where **Joan" 
and **Diccon" sat that summer day, by the 
Seceders' church, and, as he rested, he solilo- 
quized : 

**Again Fve seen them all — the old, familiar, 
friendly scenes — the ones I knew and those my 
friend described. They are still here. They do 
not go, like those who peopled them, to the 
great city yonder. No, Nature's home, love's 
peaceful haunts and the eternal hills belong to 
God! Forever, and forever they remain, but of 
the old-time people there is left but one and his 
voice never will be heard again in yonder little 
church!" 



322 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 



ROBERT BURNS ON HIS DEATH-BED. 

By Robert Reid, Montreal. 

[Prize poem of 1899, to which the Kinnear Silver Wreath was 
awarded by the North American United Caledonian Association.] 



Life's day draws near the gloaming, 

Its heat and burden dune, 
And a' its dear delusions 

I maun relinquish sune; 
Sune will auld Mither Scotland 

The bard that lo'es her tyne, 
And hear her loves and praises sung 

By ither tongues than mine. 

Land o' the sturdy thistle, 

And winsome heather bell, 
Thou wants nae quavering minstrel 

Thy pith and pride to tell; 
But strong within his bosom 

The tide of song should flow 
Who dares to voice thy doughty deeds 

And dreams of long ago! 

So well'd in mine the music 

That broke in waves of fire, 
When in the flush of manhood 

I swept the patriot-lyre; 
And though my failing fingers 

Now feebler echoes wake. 
Fain would their hinmaist effort be 

For dear auld Scotland's sake. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 323 

O dinna steek that shutter 

And keep the licht awa' ; 
But owre me in its glory 

Let ilka sunbeam fa' ! 
For in the Vale of Shadows 

Where I sae sune maun be, 
The bonnie heartsome Simmer Snn 

Will shine nae mair for me. 

Blithe hae I been to see him 

Come owre the hills at morn, 
Or in the eenin', gildin* 

Wi' liquid gowd, the corn; 
When 'neath his bauld caresses 

Dame Nature beam'd wi' joy, 
And ilka thing that breath'd was glad, 

And nane mair glad than I. 

Then, rapt in poet-ardor, 

Enchanted ground I trod, 
As in my heart, sweet-singin*, 

I heard the voice of God ; 
His warks were a' about me, 

I sang whate'er I saw, 
For man and beast, and flow'r and stream, 

I lo'ed them, ane and a' ! 

Noo, like a wauf o' winter 

That comes afore its time, 
The warld's breath has chilled me. 

And kill'd me in my prime; 
Dark clouds obscure the visions 

Gar'd a' my being thrill. 
And in my cauld and flutterin' breist 
The heavenly voice is still. 



324 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

O, talents lichtly cared for, 

And noo ayont reca', 
How, like a reckless spendthrift 

I've cuist my walth awa' ! 
What can I gie for answer 

When the dread Voice I hear 
That o' my thriftless stewardship 

In thunder- tones '11 spier? 



Sweet lass, * whase steps like music 

Slips the lown chamber thro*, 
Whase touch is like an angel's 

Upon my burn in' broo, — 
O frae the paths of virtue 

Ne'er let that fitstep stray. 
And for a heavenly licht to guide 

This heart will ever pray. 

And bairns — my blessings on ye! 

Ye'II sune be left your lane, 
Wi* life's sair darg afore ye — 

In God's name — act like Men I 
Abune a' fame or fortune 

For this my bosom yearns. 
That man for honest worth should prize 

The sons of Robert Burns ! 



Dear Jean, the nicht grows eerie, 
I wat I'll slumber sune; 

O lay your loof in mine, luve, 
As ye sae aft hae dune; 

* Miss Jessie Lewars. 



ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 325 

An' on that faithfu' bosom 

Let this worn cheek recline, 
That for a heart- beat I may pree 

The raptures o' lang syne. 

bonnie was the burnside, 
And fair the sylvan scene, 

Where, 'neath the budding hawthorn, 

I trysted wi' my Jean ; 
An' as I fondly clasp'd her — 

A bliss beyond compare — 

1 trow the munelicht never shone 
On sic a happy pair ! 

Sinsyne, I've tried her sairly. 

But gude and true she's been ; 
And for a' that's come and gane yet 

She's still my Bonnie Jean ! 
There's nane in a' braid Scotland 

That's half sae dear to me. 
And ne'er a hand but this dear hand 

Shall close my weary e'e. 

Then fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 

My first joe and my last. 
Through ilka neuk in Scotland 

Our names entwin'd hae pass'd ; 
And think na that she slichts us, 

Or sune forgot we'll be — 
A bunder year will but increase 

Her pride in you and me ! 

But now on Life's illusions 

Maun close these ee'n o' mine, 
And to the Fount it sprang frae 

My soul I maun resign; 



326 ROMANCE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Great Being ! in whose presence 

Ere morning I may stand, 
Reach from the dark to guide me through. 

Thine everlasting Hand ! 

BIRTHPLACE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

[This poem was written by Robert G. IngersoU in 1878, while 
he was at the birthplace of Robert Burns, in Scotland, whither 
he had gone to collect material for a lecture on the ploughman 
bard.] 

Though Scotland boasts a thousand names 

Of patriot, king and peer. 
The noblest, grandest of them all 

Was loved and cradled here; 
Here lived the gentle peasant prince, 

The loving cotter king, 
Compared with whom the greatest lord 

Is but a titled thing. 

'Tis but a cot roofed in with straw, 

A hovel made of clay ; 
One door shuts out the snow and storm, 

One window greets the day. 
And yet I stand within this room 

And hold all thrones in scorn, 
For here, beneath this lowly thatch, 

Love's sweetest bard was born. 

Within this hallowed hut I feel 

Like one who clasps a shrine, 
When the glad lips at last have touched 

The something deemed divine. 
And here the world, through all the years, 

As long as day returns, 
The tribute of its love and tears 

Will pay to Robert Burns. 




burns' mausoleum, dumfrip:s, where the barh is buried. 



SPIRIT OF THE SCOTS. 

THE SCHOOLHOUSE SONG AND CHORUS. 

By the Author of this Romance, for Musical and Festival 
Occasions. 



SOLO. Air— Var : 
'Watch on Rhine. 



Chorus — Air: 
Scots wa hae." 



The Spirit of the Scots survives, 
It springs from hallowed memories, 
It has ten thousand thousand lives- 
It still survives ! It still survives ! 

Hark ! the call from Highland brae. 
The pibroch's sound, the bard's wild lay, 
The echoed shouts of " Scots wa hae," 
For Caledonia Free ! 



SOLO. 



Chorus — Air: 
'Annie Laurie." 



Triumphant over ages gone, 
GhosMike and gray, and worn and wan, 
Out of the past it marches on, 
Like sorrows gone — like sorrows gone. 

While Bruce still leads the way. 
And Wallace' name's the cry, 
As at Bannockburn in glory. 
For auld Scotland we would die. 



SOLO. 



Chorus — Air: 1 

Bonnie Doon." | 



Across the present, day by day— 
With dauntless tread and potent sway. 
Toward the future far away, 
On, day by day and day by day I 

By Burns' loved Ayr and Bonnie Doon, 
By Scott's fair Tweed and Byron's Dee, 
In romance, song or minstrels' tune, 
Thy Sons, dear Scotia, turn to thee ! 



SOLO. 



Chorus — Air: 
*AULD Lang Syne." 



In that unknown and silent land 
Where honored heroes take their stand, 
And peace and love go hand in hand, [mandj 
At Heaven's command! At Heaven's com- 



For Auld Lang Syne they wait— 

For Auld Lang Syne ! 
"Scotland Forever!" nation great — 

For Auld Lang Syne! 



Call it not vaiu ; they do not eiT 
Who say, that when the poet dies 
Mute Nature mourns her worshipptu-, 
And celebrates his obsequies. 
Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 
For the departed bard make moan, 
That mountains weep in crystal rill, 
That flowers in tears of balm distil, 
Thro' his loved groves that breezes sigh. 
And oaks, in deeper groans, reply ; 
And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave. 

Sin Walter Scott. 




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